


Into the Pit, My King

by sophluorescent



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Animal Sacrifice, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism (Human to Demon), Demons, Endgame - CBXD, Fantasy Religion, Hell - freeform, Injury, M/M, Poisoning, Polyamory, Resurrection, Violence, Witchcraft, but it's also kinda blink and you miss it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:47:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 74,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26379808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophluorescent/pseuds/sophluorescent
Summary: As he kneels before a God covered in gore and sinew, he wonders if this was truly the only choice he'd had.
Relationships: Byun Baekhyun/Do Kyungsoo | D.O, Byun Baekhyun/Kim Jongdae | Chen, Kim Jongdae | Chen/Kim Minseok | Xiumin
Comments: 14
Kudos: 80
Collections: EXO MONSTERFEST 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for EXO Monsterfest 2020 as a Self-Prompt! Originally, this was going to be something I published on my own time, but seeing as it fits the theme of monsters, I thought I’d go ahead and send this in.
> 
> I feel like I can only write so many summonings before they get boring, so IDK, I tried to do some things different here and flip my typical descriptions as best I could! Also had fun making Hell a whole new world as best I could. Hopefully, you'll enjoy reading about it.
> 
>  **Please check the tags before reading.** There are multiple scenes in which animals are graphically sacrificed. Blood sacrifice and the imagery pertaining to it is ritualistic self-harm. There’s blood and guts and gore. 
> 
> And finally, I hope you enjoy reading as much as I did creating this story. Huge thanks to the Monster Mods for working with me so much over the writing period—y’all are rockstars and I love the fest you’ve organized! This fic /was/ beta-ed, but I haven't had the time to actually go through and make the edits :(( — all mistakes are my own, i hope to update it with the beta-ed version as soon as i can!
> 
> If you enjoy, please consider dropping a comment or kudos to let me know! I love QTs, and expect them because this is a fest fic, but I like having things to come back to and QTs are easily lost ;;

“Understand that the ritual cannot be completed if you have doubts.” The priest’s voice rings out unnecessarily loud. Minseok _has_ no doubts in this moment. _For what reason does he_ _have_ _to doubt that this is salvation?_ “Dívo will destroy you if it senses them.”

Minseok waves his hand, chin canted upwards, lips pursed proudly. The priest’s gaze follows his, judges him, appraises him, and finally, they relent with a nod of their head and turn to the great stone chapel behind them.

The pews have been moved, the altar to the God of Old destroyed and forsaken. Even the priest in front of him wears vestments previously locked in the Forbidden Vaults, thick black draperies, piercing jewelry, frivolous decorations for one’s person.

Minseok, by contrast, wears only his robe, and even that is only clasped at the front. It’s not very regal of him to be so bare, so vulnerable in front of a common cleric, but, sacrifices have to be made if things are to go as desired this night.

“Step into the circle, please, Your Majesty,” the priest directs. Minseok releases the clasp on his robes, steps out of the crumpled pile, naked and vulnerable, and into the center of the chalk circle drawn onto the floor. “Kneel. See that your body remains inside the central ellipses.” Minseok does as directed, his hands pressing against the searingly cold floor, curling up until he is small.

It’s humiliating, blood blushing over his shoulders and face. He knows the priest is equally embarrassed, judging by the way the man refuses to meet Minseok’s eyes now that the ritual begins in standard design.

White wine is poured over his back, sticky and decadent. The chill of the room meets his wetted flesh and he shivers, goosebumps running down his arms, his back, lips and teeth threatening to chatter.

Salt rocks are pressed into the palms of both his hands. He wraps his fingers around them, ignores the growing discomfort in his joints.

The priest disappears from the room, and, when they return, they do so with the pelt of a mountain lion—freshly skinned—and the halt and lead of a lamb. He drapes the lion’s pelt over Minseok’s back, then, turns and slits the throat of the lamb with a silver dagger. The animal is bled over him, hot, cloying blood running in rivulets down his shoulders, his neck, his back, his thighs.

It’s cast to the ground then, hooves and bones cracking against the stone floor. Blood continues to soak from the carcass, crimson spilling outwards over the chalk lines of the circle. Yet, despite the lines having been wet, they do not smudge nor disappear. Magic is already at work here, it seems.

The priest steps away and picks up a stringed instrument and bow, drawing the two together. The first melodic whine echoes out into the chamber. The second chord is played. And finally, the third.

Instantly, something _shifts_. It is like an eye has opened and has fallen upon him. Something _powerful_ suddenly attuning itself to the scene at hand. The room hangs in the balance—everything wrong, everything right all at once.

The instrument is set aside, and, in the language of the old gods, the priest calls out: _“Teḍe vuko, Dívo.”_

A minute passes, as does another, and another. Then, just as Minseok makes to rise up and execute the priest for his impudence, for making Minseok look a fool, the sound of various strings instruments and woodwinds rises up. It swells like an orchestra, volume cascading up and up and up, crescendoing with no discernable peak.

Beyond all of that, Minseok hears _screaming_ too and wonders if _that_ is Hell. _Do the Devils even have a Hell?_ They aren’t his gods. He doesn’t know them. But, perhaps he will.

In front of him, the priest stands with a hand over their eyes—protecting themselves from the Devil’s entrance, and it’s ire.

The stones in front of him crack. Blinding, white light rises up from the spider-web of imperfections. Minseok isn’t in the practice of averting his gaze, so he watches as the stones continue to break open.

A skeletal hand reaches up from some unfamiliar oblivion. A second joins the first, and the Devil pulls itself into the chapel. Its head is crowned with antlers, boar’s hooves, and silk. All white and blue, all draping neatly over his face, his body.

Minseok sits up now that the Devil’s been summoned and regards it curiously as the blinding light in the room begins to fade.

Dívo’s hands seek the ground blindly before finally wrapping around one of the lamb’s legs. He drags the animal’s corpse up, tears it in two, gore splattering his cloak, the floor, even Minseok’s naked body.

Minseok only barely controls his flinch.

The Devil lifts the meat up under the veil to eat. Minseok remains silent, though impatience now gnaws at his belly. The motion of eating does, at the very least, expose more of Dívo’s physical form. What isn’t covered by the veil is skeletal, a thin layer of skin stretching over the bone—so tightly pulled that, were Minseok to nick the skin with a knife—he imagines it would tear in a long, jagged line, perhaps avulsing the Devil’s body entirely.

“Are you only here to gorge yourself?” Minseok says once the Devil has completed devouring the lamb and its hands are patting against the floor once more. It stops, then, paused almost statuesque, and, even though it wears the thick veil, Minseok can _see_ its head and face shifting beneath the cloth to meet his voice.

“Have you summoned me merely to die?” Dívo asks sarcastically, warningly. Its voice is masculine and surprisingly rich, warm, and even. It rings out powerfully in the chamber. “Humans do not question Gods.”

The hands resume their fruitless search.

“Demons do not question Kings,” Minseok says, on impulse.

Again, the Devil pauses, the tension in the room plummeting to something _cold_ , hateful. “You speak to the God that created kings and queens, commoners and thieves. Are you often in the habit of challenging things greater than you?” Dívo asks, cocking his head to the side. His hand ghosts over Minseok’s folded knee, nails raising thin lines over Minseok’s skin. “It’s a bad habit to be in.” The threat of punishment hangs in the air, but the Devil does not reach out for him again. “You have summoned me, Human. So, what is it you _want_ of me?”

“I am fighting a war.”

“You are _losing_ a war,” the Devil crows, laughter bubbling up under its veil. “Let’s be candid.”

Minseok swallows, eyes narrowing. “I am losing a war,” he concedes, “I have the numbers, but my generals’ tactics are lacking.”

“The king is the general, with sword, shield, and steed. Is that not how my worshippers used to play their mortal games? Do kings sit in their thrones and hide behind walls, now?” Dívo questions, voice still lilting playfully. He’s toying with Minseok, and Minseok can do nothing to argue the fact. _Yet_ , at least. Once the Devil is under his thumb… then, perhaps, Minseok will settle the score and remind him what _real_ power is.

“There’s a great deal to be done in court,” Minseok says instead, choosing the response that’s least incendiary. “The inattention on the Front cannot be allowed to last. I need something to turn the tide of the war, something that does not take years to train and school in the art _of_ war.”

Dívo laughs, “If you wanted war itself, you should have summoned my counterpart.”

“I don’t want a massacre. I want a battle. I will earn no respect if a Devil simply ravages the troops. If anything, my people will then worship the Devil.”

“ _Kabé_ deserves far more worship than you do, human,” Dívo sneers, mentioning the name of his counterpart, his opposite, his complement. “But, I might understand your reasoning. Only, you’re so focused on what _I_ offer _you_. What is your side of the deal?” He wonders aloud.

Minseok smooths his hands down his thighs, smearing the drying blood. His stomach turns, but he swallows the sickness threatening to rise up, and brings his gaze back to the Devil. “I can give you _blood_ and _gore_. I give you _life_ to take. If you so wanted it, I’ll give you a place at my side, next to the Throne.”

Silence.

“What makes you think I need these things?” Dívo asks, “I am a God, aren’t I? If I need blood, I merely create the corpse that will bleed it. If I need gore, I rip apart the very Earth I made. If I need life to take, I need only kiss the mouth of my lover—life itself.”

Minseok shakes his head. “That’s blood and gore and death all without the challenge.”

“There is no challenge for me on the battlefield, human. I am like a scythe reaping wheat when compared to human soldiers.”

“Humans have forgotten you,” Minseok says, changing tactics. “Don’t you want worshippers once more. _Real_ worshippers. Those that fear you as they serve you.”

He holds his breath, but Dívo only hums, outstretching both of his hands, palms up. A blade made of bone sits in one palm. The other palm bleeds blood as black as obsidian, as thick as tar. “I will cut down two soldiers in the morning, two in the afternoon, and five in the evening. In exchange, you give me blood and gore. You give me notoriety. You give me _worship_.”

Minseok takes the knife of whittled bone and slices through the middle of his palm, sets the bleeding cut over the Devil’s, agreeing with the terms it had laid out.

As soon as the pact is sealed, Minseok is filled with contempt. Even as the Devil sheds its monstrous skin and becomes _humanoid_. “You will call me Jongdae,” Dívo says calmly. “It’s a disrespect to my true name for it to be applied to a human skin.”

Minseok nods, waving his hand flippantly, and then, he orders Jongdae to his feet. He’s so consumed in pride for _himself_ , for sealing the deal, that he misses the way the Devil’s lip curls, just as pleased.


	2. Chapter 2

Word comes in Court on the Eve of the Midfall Dinner and Harvest Celebrations. Were it happy news, Kyungsoo might be more at ease, _but_ judging by the expression on the courier’s face that is very much not going to be the case. “I come with a letter from the Front, Your Majesty.”

“Penned by whom?” Kyungsoo asks, tone relaxed even as his fingers curl in his lap, anxiety weighing on his mind. It’s always difficult to receive word like this, with the noble scholars in their galleries and the councillors in their chairs. Kyungsoo, for all his impassivity, finds it easy to succumb to worry, and difficulty to hide it, for that matter.

“General Park,” the courier rushes to say. Kyungsoo raises a brow. It’s not that Chanyeol _doesn’t_ communicate with him, only that it rarely comes in written form. While a gifted general, Chanyeol _isn’t_ … fond of his duties. He tends to take any opportunity to abandon his post for a short time and indulge in the hedonism in the Capital.

Kyungsoo would relieve him of his post if he could afford to, but ever since Oslin marched on the border it simply hasn’t been feasible. With this in mind, he waves for the courier to continue and read the contents of the letter aloud. Instead, though, the meesenger blushes—horribly red considering the pallor of his skin—and squeaks out, “Forgive my impudence, but the General requested that it be read in private.”

Kyungsoo’s lip curls, but he offers out his hand all the same. “The General is understood to be fond of pranks,” he intones, taking the letter from the courier’s feeble hand. Before the boy can dash away, though, Kyungsoo puts up a hand. “Stay. I’ll need you to carry him back by response. You may sit if you need rest.”

He doesn’t watch long enough to see how the boy reacts, his attention focused instead on the wax-sealed letter in hand. It’s been stained with mud from the ride and it appears to have been torn at the edges, but it is otherwise intact, so Kyungsoo opens it with full trust that it has not been tampered with.

It reads:

> _Your Majesty,_
> 
> _The Line has been moved to the plains just outside of Sengise. We need more soldiers. You can send them on riverboats. It is a matter of great importance, for, should we lose Sengise, we_ will _lose this war. The most recent Oslini push has absorbed both Azhe and Esho. We were able to evacuate both villages and set fire to the fields. We have lost a great deal of grain, and, should the enemy forces come closer to Sengise, we will set fire to the stores here as well—unless you have other ideas._
> 
> _In addition to the most recent offensive, the Oslini push bears an alarming new… tactic. Word among the soldiers is of a Devil on the battlefield. I don’t know enough about them to confirm it, nor have I seen the Devil itself, but… the men are adamant that something has shattered the balance. Something inhuman is picking off our men. Even the majority of us, who have grown up in a world where gods mean nothing… even_ we _agree._
> 
> _We lose two in the morning and two in the afternoon. While these aren’t great numbers in comparison to what can be lost in a skirmish, they come at times when the soldiers feel most at ease. Our men are loosing sleep and morale. We have more deserters in the past couple of weeks than we have had in the past_ years _._
> 
> _It is my suggestion that_ you _come to the Front, if only to boost morale. If you need convincing about the Devil, perhaps it is here, when you hear what the men are saying, that will convince you. Kyungsoo, I ask you this as your friend more than as your warrior. Something is out there, and we will fold if we don’t counter it._
> 
> _Please, I look forward to your response and suggestions. Remember the reinforcements. If we cannot spare them, then perhaps we will have to look to the Exiles._
> 
> _\- General Park_

Kyungsoo looks up, strangely sober, and folds the letter over in his fingers, hiding the contents from even his advisors. Then, he looks to the court scribe. “Address a letter to General Park.” He waits until the man has readied his writing stick to start speaking, regardless of how the court can hear. They will have to discuss action about the contents of the letter anyways.

“Tell him to begin moving grain from the Sengise stores down the river. We’ll begin constructing another granary within the city walls. If he feels it necessary, load evacuees onto those ships as well. We will find them work and shelter here in the city or in the fields outside of it.” Kyungsoo’s gaze roves over the room, taking stock of the reactions at hand. The scholars bear expressions of shock, as do his advisors. Those noble children here for purpose of their tutelage express their _fear_ openly.

Even the guards at the door have looked to him, faces tragically shocked.

There is not a person in the room _dumb_ to what this means. If Sengise is in danger… then they all are. Especially with the coming winter.

Kyungsoo continues, his tone measured and clear, “Tell him to send me two men that claim witness—“ he is purposefully vague here. In the Court, there are still supporters of the late-King, and they will not take kindly to mention of the natural gods and ghouls. ”—And, if I believe their testimony is valid, then I assure you I will come to the Front sooner rather than later to bear witness myself. In the meantime, I will remain here in Seva readying the city for a potential siege.” He pauses, thinks of what else to say. “There is no purpose in accepting refugees or supplies if the capital itself cannot stand against an assault. Take care, General.”

He waits for the scribe to finish writing, then takes the page once it is passed up to him. He reads over it, signs his name, and seals it with a wax stamp. Then, he motions for the courier to take it once more. “See that this gets to the General within the next four days. You’ll be fitted with a horse from the royal stables. Ride it until it cannot run any longer, then leave it with a countryman in exchange for a horse with ample stamina.”

The courier nods with wide eyes, and then, he is dismissed.

Kyungsoo leans back in his seat, bringing a hand up to his lips—tapping them thoughtfully. His head… it feels foggy with concern. He may not look it, but, the thought of Sengise falling has shaken him. Badly so.

It’s best to get the Court working, then. It _had_ been a slow day to begin with. They need something to prickle their minds. “The floor is open for those with suggestions on how best to shore up our defenses. The line has been moved to just outside of Sengise, which, as we all know is _the_ tactical stronghold of this Kingdom. Oslin will have access to the river. It is a day’s float from us.” He cocks his head, “We also need to draft more soldiers—“

“—Draft the Exiles!” The shout comes first from exactly the man Kyungsoo _expects_ it to come from, but it’s echoed very quickly through the room.

Kyungsoo immediately shakes his head, “The Exiles are not our citizens, by our own admission. We will not draft them, it is not within our right.”

“They live on our land, though, Your Majesty,” reminds Jongin, from his place at Kyungsoo’s side. Soft-spoken and young, Jongin doesn’t normally challenge Kyungsoo, so Kyungsoo deigns to respond, even if he normally wouldn’t discuss the matter any further.

“They were forcibly evicted from their homes, often without any notice, during the reign of our previous King. They had no choice in leaving our city and many of them lost their lives attempting to live off of the unfamiliar land they were deposited in. But, of those that prevailed… I’ll not send them to die again.” His tone closes the argument, though there remains grumblings on the floor of the court.

One of the door guards raises his hand a bit, as though to speak. Kyungsoo invites him to do so. “Perhaps raise the age of the draft. Allow it to be voluntary at first. There are many men like me who have aged out of frontline service who will take up arms to protect our city.”

Kyungsoo nods and allows the court to discuss it. By the time they’ve reached a consensus, the scribe is already drafting a decree. It will be spoken tomorrow, at the festivities, spun in such a way that invigorates, rather than worries.

“Which of you can handle the planning for the granary. We’ll need one large enough to house that of the Sengise stores, and, if possible, another to collect from the outlying villages near here,” Kyungsoo asks. A noblewoman stands, and Kyungsoo delegates it to her after hearing her experience in management. “We also ought to put out an evacuation _suggestion_ towards those villages between Sengise and the Capital. Let them know that while not imperative, worrisome news on the front would urge them our way so that we might protect them. Tell them we can provide for them in this uncertain time.”

Again, someone volunteers to manage the dissemination of this information. Again, Kyungsoo delegates them the role. This process is repeated for the city defenses—in which a small council is set up to oversee the construction of new gates, weaponry, and armor—and for the coming celebration’s preparations and speechwriting—again, delegated to a small council, where tasks can better be tackled.

Immediately after the last person is assigned their role, Kyungsoo dismisses the court. “Jongin, follow me,” he asks, crooking a finger and collecting his papers from his desk. Jongin jolts to attention and quickly falls in-step with him. “What do you know of the Nabo Devils.” Even the name feels foreign, even _taboo_ , on his tongue.

“T-the Nabo Devils?” Jongin stutters, “Nothing, Your Majesty.”

“Don’t lie. You must have heard some sort of folklore. You, and I mean no offense, come from the more human realms of this city. I was tutored in the palace. I never learned of religion. But you… the King couldn’t hear what was said where you grew up.”

Jongin sends him a sideways look—not offended, but judging whether or not he can trust Kyungsoo’s request. It frustrates Kyungsoo because _he_ certainly doesn’t intend to have Jongin’s tongue removed for blasphemy, but, well… the King of Seva doesn’t have a good track record with religion, so the wariness is understood.

He sighs and begins to tell Kyungsoo what he knows anyways, “The Nabo Devils are some old gods. There are two, but neither are worshipped here in Seva any longer. Perhaps, there was a resurgence in the marshlands, but… in my experience they were not popular gods.”

“Was there a reason they were unpopular?” Kyungsoo wonders as they walk, careful to keep them in the corridors less frequently used. It is no longer illegal to worship gods here, but… he’s wary. It’s always best to be wary.

“They are vicious gods, if I remember correctly. They require a lot of their worshippers, and even when unintended, people can misstep. My mother used to tell me the story of two hunters. As the story goes, when the world was created, the forest teemed with fruits of the earth and hunting the animals was not necessary. However, because the Cannibal—“

“Is the Cannibal one of the Devils?” Kyungsoo asks, eyebrows raised.

Jongin nods, and continues, “—the Cannibal is insatiably hungry and so, out of worship, people began to hunt, first as a way to offer it some meat. Over time, the practice became more commonplace, especially as forests were cut down to build villages. But, you cannot worship one of the Devils and ignore the other. The Creator took offense to these hunts that would only offer something to the Cannibal, and so it took a human form and invited two hunters out on a chase.”

Kyungsoo listens intently, motioning for Jongin to pause at the sound of footsteps. A servant appears around the corner, bows at the sight of them, then continues down the corridor. They wait until she is out of earshot.

“The hunters had a good chase and felled two wild boars. Huge animals, both very worthy of the gods. The Creator, in its human skin, suggested to the hunters that they make an offering to _both_ of the Devils. Both of the hunters agreed, _but_ , they both chose a different part of the boar to sacrifice.”

Kyungsoo cringes, can already imagine where the story goes.

“Both hunters sacrificed the meatiest part of their boars for the Cannibal. After all, it’s the Cannibal who starves, not the Creator. Then the first hunter chose to merely offer up the second best piece of meat to the Creator. The second offered the Creator their boar’s hooves, for, in his village, the hooves can be made into earrings and jewelry. It’s a craftsman’s gift,” Jongin explains, “but the Creator saw the hooves as a slight, and so, threw of its disguise and slaughtered the hunter.”

Kyungsoo purses his lips, “And it believed this would make people _want_ to worship it?”

Jongin shakes his head, “I’m not finished. The Cannibal took the murder of his _hunter_ as an offense, and so killed the hunter that the Creator had favored. So, with two dead men, and two bristling gods, humans simply stopped giving offerings unless the offerings were equal. It was better to test fate and _not_ give anything than to chance an unsatisfactory offering.”

“As expected,” Kyungsoo mumbles, “No wonder they are unpopular.”

Jongin hums, “They get credit when due, though. Their devoted swear on their power. Traditionally, the Creator is good luck to children and praying to it would increase a child’s chance of survival through pregnancy and infancy. Then, the Cannibal was good luck to travelers and to couples. It is the god of passion and free boundaries, so…”

“Interesting,” Kyungsoo murmurs. “Chanyeol—General Park—mentioned that the soldiers believe there is a Devil on the Front. I… don’t believe in such things, nor does anyone else, but if the witnesses he sends to me are… sure, I would like to have someone to question about the Devils with more… clarity. Can I trust you to find one such person?”

“I’ll have to go to the Banished Lands,” Jongin says, lips pressed in a fine line, “but you can trust me to do so. I’ll begin searching today.” And with that, Jongin dismisses himself, leaving Kyungsoo the long walk to his quarters alone, the weight of Chanyeol’s letter resting _heavily_ upon his shoulders.

He has his servants draw a bath. It is only once his shoulders have been submerged in the hot water that he gets a chance to think _clearly_ , and, in thinking clearly, gives himself time to breakdown. One letter isn’t the war lost, and he knows this, even as he cries—but, after _years_ of steadily chipping away at the Oslini forces… the blow is heavy-handed and painful. Even more so since he’ll have to break the news of the, still voluntary, draft tomorrow when the city is meant to celebrate.

The fact is that the Oslini forces are far greater in number and the only reason the Kingdom Seva has stood a chance is due to tactical superiority. Kyungsoo and his generals adapt readily to the environment, whereas the Oslinis put most of their weight behind their numbers. They favor brawn over brain.

Kyungsoo weighs this as he soaks.

He also thinks on the Devils themselves. Prepares himself for them to be a farce. As far as he remembers, the Kingdom Oslin followed the First God—not the Devils. But… if Chanyeol believes the men.

He sighs, and dispels the thoughts. The next few weeks will be hell enough. He ought to take this time to rest, to prepare.

***

Kyungsoo stands before a mirror, a strong collar of gold fitted around his neck, weighing down his robes. He’s waiting for the servant to come back with the makeup, and, in the meantime is left to survey himself.

_What King begs his people to die for him?_ He wonders, eyes dark, saddened in that long mirror. _He_ looks like a soldier himself, with his close shaved head, firm shoulders, and calloused palms—and, he _had_ been a soldier. But then, he slaughtered the King, and now he’s paid the price. By wearing the Crown himself.

The door into his chambers opens. Instead of the servant, it’s Jongin, though he holds the plate with all of the powders and brushes on it. He sets it on the vanity next to the mirror, mixes the powder in a touch of oil, and activates it. He doesn’t greet Kyungsoo until he’s brushing the eyeshadow onto the king’s lids. “I found someone who knows of the Devils,” Jongin murmurs. “By chance, actually. She heard me asking around the trading post. Her name is Kadira and she worships the Cannibal.”

Kyungsoo’s first reflex is to nod, but he remembers last minute the make-up, and steels his reaction. “I see,” he says instead. “Is _she_ a cannibal?”

“To my understanding it doesn’t quite work like that,” Jongin answers, “but… I wouldn’t be surprised.” He urges Kyungsoo to close his eyes, and lines them with kohl. When Kyungsoo lets them flutter open once more, and regards his reflection in the mirror, he looks even more unapproachable, despite how subtle the makeup is. It gives him a sharpness not quite suitable for him. But no matter, the people are used to seeing him like this. They’re used to thinking of him like this: unapproachable, cold, even cruel.

It’s far from the case, but Kyungsoo’s been repenting for his predecessors mistakes _since_ he assumed the Throne he never wanted. “What do you think the reaction will be tonight?”

“Sorrowful,” Jongin says easily. “You should find something for them to celebrate, though I can’t imagine what could be done.”

Kyungsoo has thought of it, indeed. Soften the bad news with good news. But, nothing has come to mind. With the winter approaching he cannot give all of the families of the city any additional parcels of food—lest they need it in a few months time. He outlawed slavery upon his ascension to the Throne, so there are no slaves to free. Even the prisons, he has reformed—there are no innocents he must free.

“Perhaps,” Jongin says, noticing Kyungsoo’s weary thoughts, “you can simply be with the people? As their equal. Dance with them, sing with them. Their last king certainly didn’t humanize himself to them. The last few Midfall Dinners, you were too busy with decrees, but this time…”

Kyungsoo hums, “I’ll consider it. Are you sure it’s wise, though? I’m not… so popular among them.”

“You’re far more popular than anyone they remember,” Jongin argues, “And this is your chance to build your rapport. Trust me. Take a guard in leather armor—one of the friendly guys. Just make yourself approachable. Smile and whatnot.”

Kyungsoo scoffs, but, he’ll do it. Jongin’s never quite steered him wrong before. If there’s anything he knows well… it’s the people. So, Kyungsoo will give it a chance. If it doesn’t work, then he’ll merely treat any future Midfall Dinners as he always does—a celebration to watch, but not participate in.

Later, after the decree has been issued, and Kyungsoo has finished his portion of the feast, up upon the small, but raised stage that overlooks the crowd, his anxiety is back in full force. Jongin, is of course, at his back regardless, placing a warm, encouraging hand on his king’s shoulder. “Don’t be afraid. They’re your people. You love them; it’s how you became King.”

Kill the King or see the people succumb to the floods. That is what it had been. Kyungsoo had chosen to kill one and save many.

He stands up, placing his cloth napkin on the table in front of him, and sidesteps his chair. Jongin grins encouragingly as Kyungsoo makes his way off of the stage. At the end stands a guard in plain clothes and simple armor. He invites the man along with a wave of his hand. “Your name?” He questions as an afterthought.

“Maja,” the guard explains.

“See that I’m not stabbed,” Kyungsoo says, and then, he steps into the throng of the crowd. Upon his initial entrance, he _isn’t_ noticed. People are too focused on the revelry, on greeting and celebrating with their friends, family, and acquaintances. But, once the first person attunes themself to _who_ he is and steps _back_ , so too do the others.

Kyungsoo feels much like a shark in a school of fish. Whenever he steps one way, the crowd moves another.

All too soon, he regrets his decision, the burning stares of the common people serving to hunch his shoulders and bring his gaze downcast. Until, someone reaches out and catches him by the sleeve.

Maja’s hand falls to the pommel of their sword, but, upon looking into the stranger’s face, Kyungsoo’s quick to brush him off. She’s smiling, shy, of course, averting her gaze very quickly, but smiling nonetheless. “Your Majesty, is there a reason you’ve come down?” She asks.

“Only to revel,” he replies, near dumfounded by her gentle brazenness. “To dance, to meet the people,” he explains further.

The girl looks up again, grinning in delight. “You? Dance?” She questions. She has the river accent. Kyungsoo would not be surprised if she were a fisher or something similar.

“With a partner? Of course,” he says, echoing her tone. “Would _you_ like a dance—?”

“Jihyun. And I would be delighted,” she says, offering him her hand. He takes it, and it’s only then that his brain catches up with his actions. He knows how to dance the _court_ dances. Not the dances of the commoners. Jihyun, a savior, notices, and so she is the one to guide him into the steps. “The trick,” she tells him conspiratorially, “is to _pretend_ you know how to dance. None of us _know_ how, you know.”

Kyungsoo snorts, but with that in mind, it’s easier to loosen up and get used to the simple stepping, almost playful back and forth between he and Jihyun. It has the desired effect on the rest of the crowd though, with people joining them to dance, and others clapping to the music.

“What compelled you to join us?” Jihyun asks, twirling under Kyungsoo’s arm.

He shakes his head, “My advisor suggested it. I’m… _shy_ , if you can believe it.” He tells her.

“I can believe it. You’re good at putting on a mask though. You look like a King when you’re on your pulpit.”

“And when I’m not?”

“You look like a boy,” she teases.

Kyungsoo laughs. “I think I prefer to be a mere boy than a King.”

Jihyun smiles, but offers no further advice, nor any further teasing. In time, she leaves him to dance with someone else. But there is a man in the crowd who is happy to take Kyungsoo’s hand, and Kyungsoo is happy to entertain a dance.

It’s _nice_ , and it has brought the mood up for the crowd, to have their King amongst them and making a fool of himself—though in such a way that is enjoyable and entertaining. So, even once he retires from the dance, he’s able to walk among the crowd, around the food stalls and the market stalls, and can _talk_ to people. The walls have fallen and they accept him more readily, though there _is_ still a stilted layer of formality to all that is said to him and all that he replies back with.

The visit isn’t without its hiccups either. Some _openly_ shun him, refusing to respond even to a direct invitation into conversation. Kyungsoo takes these moments with dignity and moves on.

But at the end of the night, though worn out, Kyungsoo feels accomplished and can even sleep with a smile on his face.

The next morning doesn’t herald the same pleasantries.

He’s roused from his sleep by a frazzled, _disturbed_ Jongin. “Your Majesty—“ Kyungsoo merely groans. “ _Kyungsoo_!” Jongin snaps, shaking him more roughly. At this, Kyungsoo’s eyes snap open and he sits up, hand balled into a fist. Then, he recognizes Jongin and relaxes.

“What is it?” He asks upon noticing Jongin’s tension.

“The men from the Front. They’re already here.”

It’s as if cold water has been poured over his head, Kyungsoo _immediately_ slips out of the bed and begins to pull on a more formal tunic. He’ll forgo the jewelry and robes, it’s not necessary to keep up appearances in situations like this. He merely wants to see these men as soon as possible, especially if they have Jongin so alarmed.

They walk down the halls hurriedly, and finally, Jongin leads him into one of the reception halls. A smaller, private one that does not entertain the galleries of nobles. Which is good, because Kyungsoo does not want to share this meeting with them.

Jongin pulls open the door, ushering Kyungsoo inside, then, introduces him to the two men stood in the middle of the room, chatting between themselves. Both turn at the sound of Jongin’s voice and bow curtly.

Kyungsoo’s quick to address them personally, “I hear you witnessed the supernatural?” He asks, motioning them over to the table in the room. He tells Jongin to arrange for tea, bread, and olive oil to be brought for them. Jongin disappears without another word, intent on following his orders.

The men watch him leave. “We did, Sir,” they say in tandem. “It’s a Devil. I swear it,” one of them says. Kyungsoo learns their names. There is Bom, the man who swears the being was a Devil, and there is Iwu, who seems less sure of himself, but convinced that he saw _something_.

Kyungsoo motions for Bom to explain first. “It’s like a shadow,” he says immediately. “I saw it the very first day. It was like a shadow that crossed over a few of us. Since it was sunrise, we just thought one of the boys had woken up and was coming to join us in our game of cards.”

“But that wasn’t the case?”

“No,” Bom says. He’s quiet for a long moment, his gaze glassy. “We all looked up, but there was no one there. And then Ryeowook and—“ He chokes up.

Kyungsoo doesn’t press, merely observes his reaction. It’s completely genuine, the retelling.

“My father,” Bom says, “used to tell me that the Devils hunted as shades so that weapons could not cut them down. I am _postive_ that this shade was one of them. There’s no other reason for my friends to just… drop dead like they did.”

Kyungsoo hums. It’s at this moment that Jongin returns with the tea and bread. It’s set down on the table for the men to eat and drink. “Calm your nerves. You’ll be on rest here, for a while. To mourn,” Kyungsoo says placatingly. Immediately, both men relax, some semblance of ease calming their frayed nerves.

He turns to Iwu. “And you?”

“I… swear it had me. I felt like I was choking but there wasn’t anything there. Nothing was caught on my neck. The man on watch with me. He was a shaman that enlisted after you repealed their banishment. He said something and suddenly I could breath. But it got him. Whatever it was.”

Kyungsoo regards him cooly, then, looks back at Jongin. “Do the Devils act as shades, truly?”

“It’s not hard to believe. I’m sure it’s true,” Jongin says.

Kyungsoo nods, slowly and full of meaning. “I believe you both,” he says quietly, mulling over his options. “I’ll be going to the Front myself, to witness it in the flesh if I can. I want to know with clarity before I take further action.”

Both men sigh, relieved at being taken seriously. “Be careful. It’s indiscriminate.”

Kyungsoo hums. “I’ll be as careful as I can. In the meantime, please, rest. Thank you for the service you’ve done to our people.” With that, they’re dismissed, and Kyungsoo is left to mull over their experiences. By that evening, though, he is having a horse saddled and a bag packed for the journey to the Front.

***

His ride into camp is heralded with jeers from the happy soldiers, the mood instantly on a high to see him arrive. It’s not that his visits are so infrequent, but when a war stretches years long, they become more spaced out. And, this isn’t on his typical schedule, so it’s a welcome surprise.

He has one of the soldiers, an archer, lead him to the general’s tent. After she has done so, he offers her a lambskin of wine, which she accepts happily. Kyungsoo bids her farewell, thanking her for her work on the front, and slides from his saddle, into the wet, trodden up mud beneath him. His boots _squelch_ in the terf, but he doesn’t dwell on it, quick to throw open the flaps of the tent and let himself inside.

Chanyeol looks up, eyebrows downturned, annoyance written _all_ over his face—until he realizes it’s Kyungsoo in the entrance and not one of the men. Immediately, his countenance shifts to something puppy-like and seeking for affection. “Soo-yah, when I got your letter, I almost feared you wouldn’t come,” he whines.

“I believe I said, quite specifically, that I would make a visit.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Chanyeol waves him off. “But who knows, you’re not the _most_ trustworthy man on the block.” That’s a jab, and Kyungsoo _knows_ it.

His lip curls and he rolls his eyes. “We’re friends, but you best watch your tongue, Chanyeol. I might like you better as a mute.” It’s an empty threat, but Chanyeol shuts up anyways and moves on to actual business.

“So, I take it you believed the soldiers?”

“I believe they experienced something they can’t quite explain. I’ve yet to decide whether or not they’re experiencing symptoms of war trauma or if it’s genuinely supernatural.”

“Men are dying, Kyungsoo. I don’t think it’s madness.”

“I have to be sure.”

Chanyeol nods, “Well, you’re in time for the sunrise pickings. We can go to the hill and watch the field. From up there you can see down the line. Any disturbance will be… not easy to pick out but far more visible than if we were down at their level.”

Kyungsoo follows him out the tent and hoists himself back into his saddle. He has to wait a bear few minutes for Chanyeol to saddle his horse, but once he has, they both take off at a comfortable canter up towards the hill, and _once_ there, they wait for sunrise.

In the twilight, Kyungsoo can look down the line, though. It stretches fairly far, with fires all along it. In the distance, he can see the smoke from the Oslini forces’ fires as well. But it feels far off and disengaged _until_ he glances behind him and sees how close Sengise is.

“Look.”

Kyungsoo returns his gaze to the frontline now that the first rays of sunlight are streaking across the field. All along the line, he sees people shifting. No doubt word has spread by now. _Everyone_ is anxious.

As soon as he thinks it, he sees… _something_.

It’s a shadowy mass that seemingly bounds across the field.

The men see it too, fingers pointing and _fear_ gripping their hearts.

The momentum carries the shade just beyond the first few soldiers. Kyungsoo sees two men, both of whom had turned to _run_ from the line, fall dead, convulsing horribly.

Any doubts he had evaporate just like that, with the same quickness and ease as the Devil had come and went. _If it is the Devil,_ he reminds himself.

Chanyeol watches the scene with an air of resignation. “We’ll bury them in Sengise. But, perhaps… you could say something, or—“ he trails off and doesn’t finish his request. Kyungsoo understands though, and leads the way back down the hill, directing his horse towards where the ranks had broken in panic.

A medic is at the scene already, nervous hands shaking as he checks the pulse of both of the fallen. Of course, there is none, and so he withdraws. The attention turns from him and onto Kyungsoo, who had walked his horse up to the scene _silently_ , his mouth in a firm line, his eyes dark and troubled.

“I will come back with something to protect you against whatever that was,” Kyungsoo says simply, staring down at the bodies. The medic closes both men’s eyes, but the image is emblazoned on Kyungsoo’s mind. “You said it was a Devil, and I was circumspect.” He pauses, “That was a failing on my part.” He can’t shake the image of them convulsing. What he feels is a unique sort of hopelessness. “I’ve seen what you’ve seen. I will be back here in three days time. I swear it.”

It’s not a rallying call, and the men aren’t going to crow with delight. The mood is somber and scared. But they have a duty to hold this line. The least Kyungsoo can do is see that they’re not being picked off by some demon.

“I’m not staying. I don’t want to waste any time. But, I will be back, and I’ll stand on this line with you and face it head on with you.”

The nods that follow him as he rides out, towards Sengise and a riverboat, are nods of respect.

***

“You have to understand that… she’s a little… _unique_ ,” Jongin says, “And I’m not quite sure _where_ she lives, so we’ll have to hope she’s at the trading post.”

Kyungsoo peers up ahead and sees the decrepit settlement with smoke rising from chimneys and smithing forges. The watchtower is there too, a relic of a time when the Cult ruled the marshes. Kyungsoo’s predecessor had them wiped out, and while Kyungsoo’s not a fan of the late-King’s brutal measures, this is perhaps the _only_ measure he supported. When he thinks back to the time of the Cult… well, the watchtower is an ominous reminder, especially with the dark, black blood stains coating its sides. “You said her name was Kadira?” Kyungsoo asks. “And she worshipped which one?”

“The Cannibal,” Jongin says. The nearer they come to the settlement, the more nervous he gets in his saddle, shifting from side to side. His horse is beginning to have enough of it as well, their steps becoming dancier, less controlled.

Kyungsoo eyes him apprehensively. “Is there a reason you’re so nervous?”

Jongin makes a pained expression, “The trading post isn’t… kind to people like us. Normally it isn’t violent, the shamans have, in many cases, sworn off of bloodspilling. But…”

“What does Kadira look like?” Kyungsoo asks. “Tell me, and then, you can return home. If all goes well, I’ll be back after sundown,” he says. Jongin looks even _less_ sure of that, but, his shoulders drop in relief.

“Her hair is grey, super long braid, and she wears a necklace as thick as my arm made of gold. She’ll also probably be the only person to approach you,” he says. And it’s a good enough description for Kyungsoo, so, he waves Jongin a dismissal. Jongin pauses a mere few moments before he’s turning his horse around and setting off at a canter back towards the Capital.

Kyungsoo resumes his trot towards the settlement, careful to appear relaxed, unapprehensive. He doesn’t _want_ the shamans to think he’s weak. But, he also doesn’t want to come across threatening. _Sure_ , he lifted the exile, but many of them still do not trust him, or merely hold him in contempt.

This fact is proven true when he rides into the settlement proper and is immediately assaulted with barbed shouts and cold laughter. Those that do not mock the Boy King look upon him with open disdain and hate. Those that _do_ point and laugh with poisonous mirth.

Kyungsoo pays them little mind, walking his horse into the center of the village. It’s just his luck that a woman with long, braided, grey hair and a thickly twisted necklace of gold waits for him there, as though she’d _expected_ him. “ _Igamomi_ ,” she greets. _Traitor King_.

Kyungsoo dips his head. “My advisor sent me to you.”

“And a God sent me to you,” Kadira murmurs, grinning. Her teeth are crooked, yellowed—her lips thin, cracked. Her pale skin is leathered by the sun, wrinkled and blistering. But, despite it, she has a charm to her. The charm of a woman wholly sure of herself, wholly _pleased_ with herself. “Come follow,” she beckons.

Originally, he thinks she intends to lead him right to her home. But, that is not the case. Instead, she continues on her trip around the trading post, bartering where needed, paying outright gold when she must. She even passes things to Kyungsoo, who can hold them more easily given he’s sat atop a horse.

It doesn’t annoy him though. Oddly enough, he’s fascinated by how the village works, how the people interact. Kadira is like a shield for him, as well. She doesn’t dissuade any glares shot his way, but the people do not openly shout insults at him. It’s curious, making him wonder at just _who_ Kadira is.

In time, they begin to walk away from the village, and into the swampland, weaving around trees, stepping over cypress knees, and dancing around the snakes that weave ever so infrequently across the path. “Your friend told me a Devil’s fighting your enemy’s war.” Her tone’s indecipherable. Kyungsoo doesn’t know whether she’s asking for confirmation, or merely stating the fact for him.

“We believe it to be a Devil.”

“How many does it take?”

Kyungsoo hums. “Four. Two in the morning and two in the afternoon. It comes as a shade and chokes them of their breath.”

“Then it’s Dívo who’s stolen them,” Kadira says, sounding sure of herself. Apparently realizing Kyungsoo doesn’t follow, she continues, explaining for him. “Dívo is the Creator. He is more ritualistic than Kabé, and so reaps at specific times. Both gods, however, reap nine sacrifices per day regardless of their pacts, so he has not been summoned correctly, or his pact was not specific enough to bind him properly. It’s likely that he is killing four of your soldiers and five of your enemy’s every day.”

This would be good news except that the Oslini forces can _afford_ that sort of loss, with thousands of numbers surplus Kyungsoo’s own forces. “Is that the only consequence of an incorrect summoning?”

Kadira shakes her head, “Dívo’s the more dangerous of the Nabo Devils. He’ll play along as though he is subservient. Kabé doesn’t have the same discretion.”

“Kabé is the Cannibal, then?” Kyungsoo asks, familiarizing himself with the name.

Kadira nods, “It’s probable that they tried to summon him and he did not respond to their call,“ she suggests, “or, they merely thought Kabé was too uncontrollable. He’s not… _if_ you summon him right. Dívo’s better for beginners only because he doesn’t cause as much havoc should things go wrong.”

They near a cabin. Kadira motions for Kyungsoo to dismount. He ties his horse to the pen outside, then follows Kadira inside the dillapidated old home. It smells of sulfur, animals, smoke, and blood, but Kyungsoo’s not too alarmed to be inside. Even with caged chickens and rabbits sat on the floor in old, cramped, hand-crafted cages. “I can create runes for your soldiers to bury on the field, but they will not protect them forever. May not even protect them at all…” she trails off.

“There’s another option, though,” Kyungsoo says, noticing her hesitance.

“I can attempt to summon Kabé for you. But, a pact requires give and take. You cannot order him to fight for you. You must barter with him.” Kadira sets her wares from the trading post down on her table, begins to fold the pelts she’d bought and store the jars of spices she’d gathered. “Dívo accepts any sacrifice as a sign of devotion because he is the ritualistic god. Kabé will only give you attention if you _sacrifice_ for him. He requires passionate surrender as a sign of true devotion.”

Kyungsoo’s not sure he understands, but then again… to become a knight as he had… it was a blood oath to serve the people at the sacrifice of his family, at the sacrifice of love. And while he can now pursue others as a King… that had been a sacrifice back then, when he couldn’t have ever foreseen the future. “Please, let us summon Kabé. I can’t have my men dying to a beast on the field.”

Kadira regards him cooly, then, motions for him to follow her.

She walks barefoot, toes sinking in the mud, squelching through the water. Kyungsoo follows her in boots, a similar sucking sound following each one of his steps—but at least he won’t end up with trenchfoot or something similar.

“You know nothing of my Gods, Little Boy, and yet, you want to summon them,” Kadira remarks, her voice like a crows—warbly and deep, inherently thick with arcana. “But, perhaps that is good. An arrogant summoner is a dead summoner, in the end. They jump into their pact too quickly. They don’t listen to the quiet voice that requests _patience_.” She steps over a fallen log, cloak and dress getting caught on the sticks. She keeps walking, uncaring of the tug, but Kyungsoo takes the time to untangle her—only slightly bewildered. He’s becoming used to her.

“I know very little of any god,” Kyungsoo says calmly.

Kadira laughs, “And for it, you’ll survive even this one.” She stops in place, gazing out at the clearing ahead of them.

It’s muddy, marshy. Kyungsoo doesn’t look forward to standing in the muck. But, the shaman seems perfectly at ease, even charmed by the place. It _does_ look well worn. Trees encircle it, ropes tied around their trunks and in their branches. Some ropes are ornamented by skulls and other bones. Some bear only knots and tied scrap line.

At the base of nine of the trees, there is a stone offering bowl. In the center of the clearing, a stone dais. Kyungsoo wonders if that is where he will kneel.

As though reading his mind, Kadira speaks up, “You will kneel there,” and points to a half-sunken stone over which a thick moss grows. “The dais is for Kabé. _You_ are beneath him until your pact is sealed, and even then, it is best you do not fall into the trap that is believing him controlled.”

She begins to light the nine torches that stick up from the clearing, circling the dais, about an equal length from it and the trees.

“Now that you know the way,” she says, “Go back to my home and fetch the chickens and the hares.” Kyungsoo nods and goes back the way he’d come. Back in the decrepit, wooden shack, he picks up the two small cages he’d seen when he was first welcomed into the home. The first holds four black hens. The second holds four hares.

Before he leaves, he looks to his horse, weighs Kadira’s words. Kabé needs a _sacrifice_. Something truly meaningful.

He unties the animal and leads it along with him.

Kadira raises a brow when he comes back with it in tow. “Why the horse?”

“It was my father’s. You say Kabé recognizes a sacrifice of true merit. Let me sacrifice something with meaning.” Kyungsoo feels his heart sink as he says it, but… one horse for tens of hundreds of soldiers? It’s not even a question.

“Remove your clothes outside of the clearing,” she says, before he can walk towards the stone.

He hesitates, eyebrows furrowing. It’s not so much that he’s embarrassed at the thought of being naked in front of the old shaman. Rather, that he’ll feel _vulnerable._ But, he’s come here to save his soldiers. If he’s going to fold to the idea of inviting a Devil into his home, then he can easily fold to the idea of getting naked in the midst of a stinking marsh.

He folds his clothes and sticks them with his boots against the roots of a tree, keeping them from soaking through on the moist ground. Then, he walks back into the clearing, with the horse in tow, and stands awkwardly, waiting for further direction, watching as Kadira slaughters the chickens and hares and leaves the carcasses to bleed in the offering bowls.

“Take your horse up to the dais. If you want to be gentle, use the rock on the poll of its head to stun it. Then slit its throat,” Kadira instructs, passing him a rock and a dagger made of bone. Kyungsoo feels lightheaded, but leads his horse up the stone steps onto the ancient platform. It skitters back and forth a bit, clearly nervous, but, it follows Kyungsoo nonetheless—trusting him to the end.

He strikes it on the back of the head; the reaction is immediate, the horse stumbling forward and down, onto its knees. Kyungsoo’s heart leaps to his throat and he gasps out a choking, regretful sound. But, if he’s come this far. He pets the smooth, velvety muzzle of the animal, and gently holds its head up, using the dagger to cut open its jugular and let blood wash over the stone.

He feels _sick_.

“Kneel on the stone,” Kadira says, pointing Kyungsoo back to the half-sunken platform she’d showed to him earlier. “I’m going to begin the ritual. Understand that you _must_ greet Kabé in order for him to become a part of this plane. Trust nothing he says. He _can_ touch you, he _can_ hurt you, but he’s… playful. It’s unlikely he’ll do so. If he takes a human face, ask him for a human name of address. It’s disrespect to call him by his divine name when he wears skin like ours.”

Kadira begins a chant, loud and clear, startling the birds from the trees around them. Three verses pass by with little change in the air. Until, on the fourth, the fires grow larger, and the horse on the dias begins to convulse.

At this point, the shaman dips her hands in the offering bowls, each one in succession. She walks to Kyungsoo’s place on the stone and smoothes her hands down his shoulders, his naked back—leaving blood in her wake.

“Do you have a desire, boy?” She asks, breaking her song. “Say it most truthfully, most simply. If Kabé respects it, he’ll come to us.”

Kyungsoo nods. “I want to protect my men. My land,” he says, as truthfully as he can. The image of those men, dying to a supernatural force. It flashes at the forefront of his mind, reminds him completely of why he’s here. Makes him _trust_ this process.

Kadira resumes her song, placing a necklace of bones around Kyungsoo’s neck and smearing her bloodied fingers up through his hair. She dances away again, breaking her song to howl into the night sky, fingers cupped around her mouth.

All around them, the forest seems to suddenly come alive with howling, birdsong, even the distinct hiss of alligators. Kyungsoo doesn’t look around, knows himself well enough to know that—if he sees any of those predators headed his way—he’ll be running back for his sword and breaking the ritual’s power instantly, his anxiety spiking beyond what he can actually control.

The song rises, Kadira’s voice reaching a near wail. Birds begin to circle overhead, their shadows passing over the clearing. At the edge of the wood, the bushes tremble, sticks snap, and the growling of wolves becomes even _more_ apparent.

But Kyungsoo pays them no heed, his gaze transfixed on the dais.

The horse has split open, and in the cavern of its belly, rises up a twisting, _undulating_ body. A dancer covered in gore, who rises with laughter and birdsong and howling and hissing. Kabé, the Cannibal, who comes to stand upright upon the dais, his face turned towards Kyungsoo.

It is a face whittled from driftwood, washed out by water, but with carved teeth and eyes. It is painted with crude symbols, drawn upon it by hand. Shaggy, unkempt black hair frames the God’s face, giving it an odd sort of humanity. As much humanity as can be depicted when one is covered in entrails and bathed in crimson.

“Thank you for answering our call,” Kyungsoo says on impulse, tongue dry. “Welcome, Kabé.”

At once, magic seems to ripple through the glade, a great groaning following it. Kabé appears to solidify in that moment, to truly become _real_.

“You are dismissed,” he says, his voice a rich timbre beneath the creaking of the wood mask rearranging itself. Kadira rises up from the prostrate pose she had fallen into, and quickly leaves the clearing. Immediately once she has passed the circle of trees, those trees _bend_ and _crack_ and weave themselves together, closing the clearing off to the outside world.

Kabé steps off of the dais, feet sinking into the marsh water, and reaches out, trailing a warm hand down Kyungsoo’s neck and back. His skin is a bronzy tan, a _lively_ color despite the inhumanity of his mask. Raw power radiates off of him, announcing his presence with as much surety as does his appearance.

Kyungsoo is tongue-tied, to be honest.

“I appreciated your sacrifice,” Kabé says, bringing his bloodied hand up to his mask and taking it off. The action reveals a human face, with warm, droopy eyes and a gentle, if slightly mischievious smile. Then, the Devil is turning around and stepping back onto the dais, crouching to pet the dead horse’s muzzle. As he does, the animal’s body begins to knit itself back together, and finally, it opens its eyes, fatigued, but _alive_. “I don’t have any use for a horse in Hell,” Kabé says, helping the animal to its feet and off of the stone platform to graze.

He turns back to Kyungsoo, making his way back around to sit on the edge of the dais, just in front of him.

Despite the Devil’s nudity, Kyungsoo can’t even blush. There’s _nothing_ embarassing, nothing _vulnerable_ about the Devil in front of him.

“Thank you—“ Kyungsoo says, stilling his tongue before he can refer to the god by its name, Kadira’s warning flashing in mind. “Is there a name you would like me to address you by?” He asks.

“Baekhyun will do,” the Devil says, grinning. He’s _pleased_ with Kyungsoo. Seems _aptly_ proud of the King. “Now… what does an atheist call upon a God for?” Kabé wonders aloud, his tone tinged with teasing.

Kyungsoo shakes his head slowly. “Help,” he says very simply. “My men are dying to a Devil. I needed something to fight it. I swore to them I would come back with something to protect them.”

“I don’t protect,” Baekhyun says clearly, leaning back on one of his palms. “You must be mistaken. I don’t think I can help you,” Baekhyun continues. But his tone is floaty, challenging, and insincere.

“You can,” Kyungsoo states, rolling his shoulders back and trying to look strong on his own. Nude, he doesn’t feel guarded like normal, but, he is still a warrior. He is still a king. He’s not just any human. “What do you want in exchange? If you could not satisfy my desire, you would not have shown here.”

Baekhyun hums, eyes half-lidded, lazy, but so, so interested. “You’re bold,” he murmurs. “Are you not afraid I’ll kill you?”

Kyungsoo cocks his head, “What use does a god have murdering a human that puts up no fight?” He wonders aloud. “Surely, there are more powerful things they can deign to entertain. Humans are hardly worth the trouble.”

“Perhaps… perhaps not,” Baekhyun says, quirking a brow. “Then, say I asked for you as my desire?”

“I’m not for sale,” Kyungsoo says with ease, eyes narrowing.

“Oh?” Baekhyun asks, slipping off of the dais and walking over, smoothing his hand down Kyungsoo’s back.

He can’t help it this time—he shivers.

“But you’re so captivating,” Baekhyun says. After a few minutes of silence, though, he seems to come up with an adequate exchange. “I’d like to live like a human king, then. In the palace, with the food, the wine, all of the decadencies. And in exchange, I’ll meet my lover on the battle field. I will slaughter his master’s men. I will slaughter even _him_.”

Kyungsoo mulls over his words, then adds, “I agree, though only so long as you are under my influence. You will have all of this and even more, should I be able to give you it, so long as _I_ have the power in the bond. You serve me. Not the other way around. And when your purpose is complete, you will return to Hell. Alone. You will have no lasting influence on me.”

Baekhyun’s smile falters, then he rolls his eyes. “Who warned you about deals with the devil?” he pouts. But, he conjures a knife all the same—wooden, but finely carved. He crouches in front of Kyungsoo, so that their faces sit at the same level, and presses the tip of the blade to Kyungsoo’s lip, draws a bead of blood.

Kyungsoo takes the knife and mirrors the action onto the demon’s face. And then, before Baekhyun can even initiate it, he leans forward and closes the gap between their lips, mixing each other’s blood on their tongues.

Baekhyun breaks away with a laugh and eyes blazing like fire—alive, bright, _pleased_. “I am _happy_ to serve you, my King,” and he bows.

***

Having a Devil in the Palace is pretty much as Kyungsoo expected it to be. Introducing Baekhyun is easy in that… he doesn’t introduce the Devil to anyone other than Jongin.

“Who?” Jongin asks when Kyungsoo returns to the Palace, entering his chambers from the secret passage rather than the actual entry door, covered in blood and mud, with an absolutely _radiant_ naked man in tow behind him. He makes the connection a few seconds late, but when he does, his eyes widen and a look of terror passes across his face. “Is this the Devil?!” He gasps.

Baekhyun cocks his head, “I have a name.”

“Call him Baekhyun,” Kyungsoo says quickly, before Jongin can mention his _true_ name and offend the Devil. It’s not that Kyungsoo thinks Baekhyun’s full of tricks, but… he’s not going to chance giving the devil a reason to hurt the people he holds dear. And… he’s not going to trust something that crawled from the pits of Hell. “And yes. Can you have a bath drawn?”

“Will he be staying here with you?” Jongin asks, just before leaving. He looks worried at the prospect. Kyungsoo is _too_ , if he’s being completely honest, but he’s even more distrustful of leaving Baekhyun in a private chamber of his own, where he could trick any manner of palace personnel. “Only for tonight, we’ll take a boat upriver in the morning tomorrow. I want him on the frontline as fast as possible. I promised the men.”

Jongin leaves, Baekhyun’s gaze following him out. “I like dancers,” Baekhyun murmurs, tone sharp.

“Don’t give him trouble,” Kyungsoo sighs turning to his vanity. He looks like shit, pulling off the dirty clothes he’d been wearing and throwing them in a crumpled heap to the floor. They ought to be burned, the blood and mud won’t be washed out. His hair is caked with dried blood and he smells of animal and guts.

Baekhyun walks up behind him, hands wandering as Kyungsoo’s learned is _per_ _usual_ for the devil. “I won’t,” he pouts, meeting Kyungsoo’s gaze in the mirror. _That certainly doesn’t sound right_. “Not too much,” he amends, at the sight Kyungsoo’s quirked brow.He grins, boxy, toothily, and pulls away to explore the bedchamber.

It’s not too long before Jongin returns with the servants and their pots of heated water. The tub in Kyungsoo’s bathroom is filled, slowly, but surely—Baekhyun watching the proceedings with an air of quiet curiosity. And when it’s finally all done, Baekhyun invites Jongin to join them.

Spluttering, Jongin refuses, and leaves before Kyungsoo can even dismiss him. Baekhyun _cackles_ , and then, he’s turning his sharp gaze on Kyungsoo, roving over his exposed skin. “Your bath isn’t scented with oils?”

Kyungsoo shakes his head. “I’m only getting clean. It doesn’t require flowers and spices.” He walks into the bathroom, quick to step over the lip of the tub and sink into the water. Baekhyun appears ready to join him, but a singular, icy glare from Kyungsoo keeps his hands at bay. “ _My_ bath. _You_ have already spelled yourself clean.”

Baekhyun snorts and takes up a perch on the bathroom counter, where towels and clean sleeping clothes await. He pulls one knee up to his chest, hugging it, and leaves the other swinging childishly. “ _So_ , we’re going upriver tomorrow? And there you’ll pit me against my lover?”

“If that’s what it takes,” Kyungsoo says. Baekhyun’s eyes sparkle. “Like I said, I want to protect my men. You swore to do so.”

Baekhyun hums, looking around. Kyungsoo focuses on scrubbing at his skin, wrinkling his nose at the way the water _quickly_ turns brown. Until, it’s not. He looks up in time to see Baekhyun’s hand return back to his side. He must have spelled the water clean.

Kyungsoo, oddly enough, appreciates it. “Tell me about your lover,” he decides. Baekhyun and he aren’t friends, and Kyungsoo’s not too concerned with tact, but he _is_ curious to know _something_ about Baekhyun and the Devil he considers his love.

“ _Dae-yah,”_ Baekhyun murmurs breezily, dreamily, eyes glazing. “He’s _charming_ ,” he tells Kyungsoo, a blush rising to his cheeks. “Cunning, brilliant _,”_ Baekhyun continues to think of adjectives to describe him. “He’s gorgeous, and so, so sharp. Creative and musical, _mhm_ ,” Baekhyun trails off, lost in his thoughts.

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes.

“He’s patient, too, respectful. But he likes to get that respect back. Is more serious about it than I am,” Baekhyun explains. Kyungsoo’s already caught him _twice_ trying to trick others into calling him by his godly name, so he’s not wholly convinced that Baekhyun’s all that forgiving anyways. “And he lets me play my games, entertains them, even.”

“Your games?”

“I’m a Hunter, Your Majesty,” Baekhyun purrs, “I’m full of games. Hide and seek? Chase?” He hums. “Aren’t you putting me on my lover’s tail. He’s the cat, but I’m the hound.” He holds open his hand and in his palm, creates a ball of light, moving and changing with ribbons of energy. Kyungsoo watches curiously until Baekhyun’s hand crushes it once more. “That’s what _all_ of this is, Soo-yah. It’s _all_ a game. You have _no_ concept of reality. Not like I do.”

Kyungsoo steps out of the tub and accepts a towel from Baekhyun’s hand, trying not to appear rattled by his words. “Humans, then, are a game to you?”

“What does a human matter against the workings of the world?” Baekhyun supposes, ignoring the question.

Kyungsoo’s not quite sure he knows.

He’s still pondering the question later, once Sengise is in the near distance and the smoke of fires along the frontline becomes visible. There has been no march in the time since he last visited, but, if anything can be certain, it’s that a march will come soon. Kyungsoo wants to get Baekhyun on the field _before_ that happens and see if he can warrant a push of their own. After all, Sengise is _the_ Stronghold, and Kyungsoo wants quite desperately to get the Oslini forces off of its doorstep. Because with siege comes famine and disease, and with those, comes death in droves.

They disembark in the city, and from there, it’s a little less than an hour’s ride to the camps.

Their arrival comes with muted, curious attention. Not for Kyungsoo—though he and his horse wear light armor, suggesting they _will_ be joining the fighting soldiers—but rather for Baekhyun who rides atop a sleek, black mare and practically _glows_ under the attention. He’s _not_ dressed for battle, with only a pair of pants cinched at his hips, and a _garish_ amount of jewelry on his figure.

He’d insisted on decorating himself, and Kyungsoo had promised to allow the Devil his decadence, so it was a granted request. Now though, it serves to make Baekhyun look both foreign and arrogant. Riding between men who have given up their families, their careers, their riches just to come fight for their kingdom… it’s like a slap in the face to them.

Baekhyun seems unconcerned.

Kyungsoo keeps his eyes downcast.

They reach the generals’ tent. Kyungsoo’s not going to waste dismounting to go fetch Chanyeol, so he sends the guard stood outside to go get him instead. When Chanyeol emerges, though, his eyes flit right from Kyungsoo and onto Baekhyun, his greeting dying in his throat. Baekhyun _grins_ houndishly, and for once, Kyungsoo sees Chanyeol _reassess._

Kyungsoo clears his throat. “This is _Baekhyun_ ,” he says very carefully, tone acting as a warning. Chanyeol catches on, as Kyungsoo thought he would. After all, he’s a clever man. “Seeing as it is nearly afternoon, perhaps, we ought to get to the front line?”

Chanyeol nods wordlessly and hauls himself into his own saddle. He leads the way.

Again, silence succeeds them, Baekhyun’s outlandish appearance and Kyungsoo’s serious presence proving to cow the soldiers into a quiet as they process what’s happening, what’s new, and _why_ the King and a stranger are here.

Chanyeol stops somewhat behind the men. The only people ahead of them are those that _hold_ the line, ensuring that the wooden stakes and trenches are kept in good condition should the enemy charge.

The sun seems to hang overhead.

Baekhyun slips out of his saddle, bare feet sinking in the mud. His expression never falters, though. _Excitement_ radiates off of his frame. There is something about the way he moves now, the muscles of his back and shoulders rippling as though _something_ lies _beneath_ them, urging to break free.

Across the field, Dívo, the shade, begins to streak across the open space, its body not wholly tangible, but _visible_ regardless. It comes to the midpoint of the field, its speed striking, and yet, Baekhyun still does not move from his place. In these few suspended seconds, Kyungsoo realizes one very simple, startling fact.

He cannot feel even a _tinge_ of Baekhyun’s magic.

That is, until Dívo streaks near them and it all snaps into motion at once—so abrupt that the grass on the field _ripples_ with the force of it, a physical wind proceeding after the ribbon of magic.

Baekhyun sheds his skin in one explosive leap, breaking free of his human skin as the Hound, with wiry black fur, a multitude of eyes, and those gaping, slavering jaws. It’s almost anti-climactic how easily Baekhyun meets Dívo in the air—but, in the collision, Dívo becomes tangible in his divine image—veiled and antlered and skeletal.

Baekhyun’s jaws close around the bones of those antlers and use them to throw the Devil into the ground, _mauling_ it and soaking the ground with ichor.

Across the field, there is a rising sound—a horrified sound.

Kyungsoo has no doubt Dívo will be back, _but_ , for this day? He is out of commission. “Ready the men. March on their forces as soon as we are ready,” Kyungsoo snarls at Chanyeol. “They are panicking already. If we are lucky, they’ll retreat.”

Chanyeol raises the call and moves off to whip the soldiers into action. Kyungsoo meets the gaze of those men around him and then, flicks his eyes to where Baekhyun’s hound continues to feed on the Devil. With a sigh, and perhaps a stroke of fear, he rides his horse into the open and towards the feasting dog. “Baekhyun,” he calls.

Baekhyun’s hound turns its massive head, tens of eyes blinking at Kyungsoo. And then, its lips are pulling back into a snarling growl. Its teeth are smattered with black blood, which, thick as tar, seeps from its mouth, mixing with the Hound’s drool.

Kyungsoo rolls back his shoulders and reassures himself silently. Baekhyun is _subservient_ to _him_ according to their pact. “Baekhyun, wait. You’ll taste blood again,” he says, motioning to the enemy lines. The Hound follows his gaze and, though slowly, Baekhyun returns to the skin of a human. Blood still spatters his chest, runs up his arms, and his eyes… they are _wild_. So, this is the Devil in action.

Baekhyun’s messier than Dívo.

He’s even messier once Seva’s army begins to march, shifting back into the skin of a hellhound and loping across the field. He’s out of earshot by the time Kyungsoo realizes the Oslini forces are retreating, and, with no way to call the Devil back—Kyungsoo’s forced to resolve himself to the inevitable massacre they’ll chance upon when they overtake the old, enemy line. It pains him to know that Baekhyun is mauling innocent men, but there’s nothing Kyungsoo can do unless he breaks ranks. And then, it appears as though Baekhyun is uncontrolled (which he is), and Kyungsoo, again, looks weak.

“Loot what’s left of the camp,” Kyungsoo says, the order passing down the line in time with the drum beats. His gaze doesn’t move from Baekhyun, though, watching as the devil shifts back into a human form and rips into a corpse.

His stomach turns, more so once he’s close enough to the Devil to see the blood marring his face, the gore smeared over his hands. “Stand down,” Kyungsoo says. He holds Baekhyun’s horse’s reins in his hand and offers them to the Devil. “You’ve had your fill for today.”

Baekhyun regards him for a long time, eyes sharp, hateful, and then—he relaxes. Tension bleeds from his frame and he stands up looking at ease and _proud_. When he settles into his saddle, he does so with his chin canted upwards and his mouth a grinning, _mocking_ crescent. “Jongdae will be ready next time,” he says, referring to the Devil by a human name. “Be prepared should he win the next fight.”

Kyungsoo replays the scene when Baekhyun’s hound had consumed the other devil. Looks down at the corpse Baekhyun had just been feeding on. Biles rises in the back of his throat and he wonders if perhaps, summoning the demon was a mistake. A mistake that will escalate Dívo’s violence and turn the battlefield into an ocean of blood by the end of it all.

***

“You seem less sure of yourself,” Baekhyun murmurs. Kyungsoo’s had a tent set up for himself and outfit with what’s typical of his rank. Baekhyun, as his charge, has also taken up residence inside the temporary building—waiting for the moment Dívo next appears on the field. In the meantime, the Sevan Army has continued its forward push, striving to recapture as much as it can of heartlands.

“Less sure of myself, how?” Kyungsoo remarks back, ink continuing to glide across paper. Jongin is handling matters at Court, as he is trained to do, but they’ll have to work on his confidence against the other nobles. Some of these letters… Kyungsoo shakes his head. Jongin’s capable enough to do just find without any handholding, so why is he pretending to need it _now,_ when Kyungsoo has bigger things to worry about.

Baekhyun hums, rolls over on his pallet and exposes the smooth, tan skin of his thigh where the blanket rides up. “You don’t meet my eyes as often. You don’t parade me around the camp. You keep me on a leash in _here_ ,” he sighs, “Are you embarrassed of me?”

“What is there to be embarrassed about?” Kyungsoo asks, though shame _does_ prickle under his skin, hot and unwelcome. “You are a God, should I not be proud to have you at my side?”

“Your men meet your eyes with _fear_ ,” Baekhyun hums, voice low. “I think _that_ is why you’re embarrassed of me. You could not protect them with your own human wits, and called upon a _beast_. You look weak and _cruel_.”

Kyungsoo pauses his writing, letting his eyes flutter shut. He releases a slow sigh through his lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You do,” Baekhyun says with cold honesty. He gets up from his place in the blankets and walks over to where Kyungsoo sits, his hands curling over Kyungsoo’s shoulders. “You can’t lie to an honest god. I see right through it.”

“Is your lover an honest god?” Kyungsoo deflects.

Baekhyun hums, “I believe we already established that he is _not_. Jongdae can be the trickster. I am reality itself. My tongue has no taste for lies.”

Kyungsoo resumes writing, trying to ignore the heat of Baekhyun’s presence. “Jongdae is the human name for Dívo, then?”

A noise of affirmation, and Baekhyun is pulling away, walking around the edge of the tent and exploring the items there, settling on taking Kyungsoo’s gilded armor in hand. He pulls up a stool and the equipment needed to polish the metal, and sets to work. “ _Jongdae_ is the bells, the chimes, the music. Chen, the other name he goes by, is the morning.”

“And Dívo, what does that name mean?”

“It’s a worshipping name. It means silver. Humans met him second to me. Kabé is gold. I was the gilded god, who crawled onto the world with human skin and desire, who wished to be draped in riches and in passion. Humans adored me early on. I _am_ charismatic,” Baekhyun explains with a grin. He _is_ a sight to behold, and fits well amongst the glamour of the palace, of the nobility. With a sharp tongue unafraid to insult just as much as it praises, eyes that catch everything, and hands unafraid to execute even the most difficult decisions… he was made for a crown.

“If those are only worshipping names, what are your true names?” Kyungsoo asks.

Baekhyun shrugs, “Names are a human matter. What does a god need for a name when it understands its counterpart perfectly without one?”

Fair enough. Thinking on it, names _are_ only used to aid in understanding someone, in helping to realize them and their relationships to you. It’s identity. So, if you already have that inherent _knowledge_ of someone else, then there is no need.

Kyungsoo lets the conversation fall flat and returns to his letter. Baekhyun continues polishing the king’s armor, giving it the careful attention it needs (and that Kyungsoo doesn’t often take the time to give it). “You shouldn’t be ashamed of me,” Baekhyun says lowly, bringing them back to the start of this whole conversation. “Jongdae would have continued to pick off your men until he grew bored.”

Baekhyun’s hands slow to a halt and he looks up, waits for Kyungsoo to glance over and meet his gaze. “Your predecessor condemned you to a life without knowledge of us. He banished and slaughtered your shamans. They could have helped, but they chose not to.” His gaze is steady, unwavering. “It isn’t your fault that the men fear you, but rather, his. In the days when we were worshipped, _you_ would have been glorified if only because you were clever enough to control _me_. But, now, it’s all lost.”

“I can remain ashamed,” Kyungsoo says, sloughing off Baekhyun’s words.

“I’m telling you that you _shouldn’t_. There was no other choice. There was no right path. You had two options. Allow my lover to slaughter you and watch your kingdom fall _or_ summon me and let the fields bathe in blood. At the very least, it is bloodied by men sworn to this death, and not the children who never asked for it.”

“That’s enough.”

Baekhyun sets the armor aside only once the candles have begun to burn out. The gold glints beautifully in the dying light. He’s done a good job. “You ought to sleep,” he says, sinking down onto his own pallet. “Breathing in the moonlight will bring you a younger death if you do it too often.”

Kyungsoo shakes his head and lights a new candle, continuing to answer his letters. “I’m sat in a tent in the middle of a battlefield, Baekhyun. I invited a ‘young’ death years ago.”

Laughter comes from the dark, as though Baekhyun is _very_ much aware of the fact, and perhaps knows more to it. But, it’s not unsettling—as many things can be, with Baekhyun. It’s amused acknowledgment of the short lives of humans, free of malice.

It takes for the second candle to die out before Kyungsoo goes to his pallet with intent to sleep, but even in the dark, he looks over and catches sight of Baekhyun, of his eyes—sharp and always observing. “Do you sleep?” Kyungsoo asks, because he’s never _seen_ the devil sleep, but…

“No,” Baekhyun says, quirking his lips. “Does this embarrass you too? To know that I am watching?”

Kyungsoo stares at him, then flicks his blankets over his shoulders, frowning. “It doesn’t.”

Baekhyun snorts. “You have a lying tongue. I’ll leave and give you time to fall asleep.”

Kyungsoo turns over so that he doesn’t need to watch Baekhyun’s shift into that _monster_. He still _hears_ him, though. The great, padded footfalls against the ground. The panting, the growl of his throat. But, as Baekhyun said, the hound leaves the tent.

Kyungsoo’s still awake when it returns, but he pretends as though he’s not, and watches with curious eyes as Baekhyun returns to a human skin, black fur turning to golden skin, red eyes deepening to dark brown, claws becoming nails. He glances at Kyungsoo—doesn’t confront him if he _does_ happen to notice Kyungsoo’s wakefulness—then, lays on his back, his breathing slowing just long enough to lull Kyungsoo into a rhythm.

He falls asleep, but before dreams claim him… he feels Baekhyun’s gaze on him once more.

***

“He’s awake,” Baekhyun murmurs from his perch atop his horse. Kyungsoo glances at him, as does the circle of foot soldiers helping escort him along the line. They all recognize Baekhyun’s specific _tone_ when talking about Jongdae. The light, _excitement_ that comes out to play. “If he slaughters me, I will take just as long to… reform. And even once I’m powerful enough for a mortal skin, I’ll still need recovery time.”

“How will we know when you’ve reformed?” Kyungsoo asks, figuring it’s best to prepare for the worst.

“You’ll know,” he says. His focus is already on the distant line of soldiers across the open plain. It’s overcast, but not so dark that the opposing army is hidden. It’s not good conditions either, considering—

“You had a push planned for today?” He wonders aloud.

Kyungsoo nods. “At sunset.”

“It’s not a lucky day,” Baekhyun says, “You should cancel it.”

“And what do you propose we do instead? Sit here and allow them more time to prepare a defense?” Kyungsoo asks, incredulous. They can’t give them that extra time to prepare. Kyungsoo _has_ to ride the forward momentum that victory brings. The morale, the _mood_ , it’s been so good. He can’t allow the men any time to doubt.

Baekhyun shakes his head, hawkish eyes tracing the field. “I suggest you plead for a shaman on the field, soon.”

Lightning ribbons through the sky and cracks down onto the field, shaking the ground with its thunder. “If I were to fight tonight, what will happen?”

“Jongdae will drown you in this storm. It’ll be catastrophic,” Baekhyun says. “You will still be attacked tonight. Jongdae is not going to go another day without his kills, _but_ at the very least it’ll only be a few men.” He looks away from the field with the onset of the storm, carding his fingers through his horse’s mane.

Kyungsoo scowls and looks to one of the guards. “Go down the lines and ask for a shaman. Do _not_ harm them and make it clear that they’re sought for their help, not for execution. Hear me?”

The guard nods and takes off at a jog. _Good_ , Kyungsoo has to see Chanyeol and suspend the planned attack. They’ll decide on a new day—hopefully within the next week—to make their push. And, at that time, Baekhyun best be ready to attack.

The tent is empty when Kyungsoo arrives, but he doesn’t have to wait long before Chanyeol comes inside. “I noticed your dog sat outside,” Chanyeol murmurs. As he drops the flap of the tent, Kyungsoo catches sight of Baekhyun’s thick, black fur. He must have shifted soon after Kyungsoo went inside. “I also heard from whatever man you sent running that you’re in search of a shaman.”

“Baekhyun’s suggestion,” Kyungsoo says. “Jongdae—the other Devil—is awake again.”

“Are you sure this shaman won’t just break him free of his chains and set him on you?” Chanyeol asks. “You can’t trust them.”

“No,” Kyungsoo says, “I can’t. But we have few options. So long as there is something supernatural opposing us, we must have something to oppose _it_. That something is Baekhyun, whether we like it or not.” He smoothes his hands over the surface of their table, motions for Chanyeol to unfurl the maps.

Chanyeol does so, setting up the pawns as well for a better visual. “We’ve reclaimed Azhe and Esho both, though the villages are useless for the time being as we had razed the crops on our first retreat.”

“No matter, it was the end of harvest season anyways,” Kyungsoo says. “Nothing is going to be growing now anyways. Can’t you feel the wind?” It’s blowing _cold_ and will continue to worsen as the weeks go on. “We should push to claim Heolm.”

“That’s outside of our territory—it’s indisputably Oslini,” Chanyeol says, “But, _if_ we manage to take it, we control the whole of the Tonimo River, including the Northern bridge.”

Kyungsoo nods, “They’ll have to turn their heads upwards and trade with those beyond the Wailing Range and in Coldeport. It’ll be a financial blow and, given the season, will cause a famine if they’re unable to recapture Heolmkeep. It’s their southernmost keep, the granaries there must be overflowing, they’ll have just reaped their harvest.”

“It feeds their soldiers. If they cannot recapture it in the first week we take it… they’ll have to retreat. They cannot feed the masses back home and those on the field,” Chanyeol agrees. Both of them are quiet for a long moment. “They will fight to the last man for that city.”

Kyungsoo stares at the mark on the map. Heolm, in ancient times, was a part of the Sevan Kingdoms. It was given to Oslin as a gift many centuries ago, and has led to countless years of on-again, off-again conflicts along its surrounding fields.

“It belonged to us once, it will belong to us again. That grain will feed _our_ people. It will push Oslin back North, where they _ought_ to be,” Kyungsoo says, tonelessly so. “If we capture it, Chanyeol, the war is over—for now. You’ll get to go home.”

Chanyeol glances up at that, his warm brown eyes _sparkling_ at the thought of being back at court, at jousting in petty competitions, in _woo_ ing other nobles. “You’ll only send me back out here when Oslin renews itself.”

“I won’t,” Kyungsoo says honestly, “I promise, I won’t. But, you better teach me a new General. One as good as you.”

Chanyeol laughs, “I can arrange that.” They stare at the map but a minute longer. “I’ll start the plans. We’ll resume the push after this storm goes through. I heard the men talking—it’s meant to be above us for a couple of days.”

Kyungsoo’s about to respond, only, the tent flap opens and a sopping wet woman walks inside. She’s a calvary-woman, with a spear strapped to her back, and a rounded, feminine jawline. Her eyes are shrewd, though, cunning and observant. “The men were asking for a shaman?”

“Are you one?” Kyungsoo asks, raising a brow.

“I renounced,” she says curtly. “I had children to provide for. They wouldn’t have survived exile.” Except, here she is, on the frontline of a war she could never have foreseen coming—childless. Kyungsoo could ask, but he imagines it won’t garner a pleasant response.

“Do you know of Dívo?” He asks.

She nods, “Yes, but I worshipped the Rabbit God—Shaja. Meaning, I have more of an affinity for Kabé, but my respect for Dívo is… still palpable. Why did you ask for me?”

“He’s going to be back on the field. Our Devil recommended we have a shaman on our line. I assume, to offer some sort of protection, should Dívo successfully banish him,” Kyungsoo explains. Chanyeol glances outside on impulse at the mention of _their_ Devil. Baekhyun. Kabé, itself.

“I can try, but… the gods have no love for those that renounced. It is a… uniquely condemning slight against them. I may only serve to anger Dívo more.”

“It’s a chance we’ll have to take. Whatever you need, tell me and I’ll have it brought for you, but if possible, begin those protections tonight.” He pauses, “I’d also like to know your name. Please.”

“Jiyeon.”

“Thank you. Your help won’t be overlooked,” Kyungsoo says. She takes this as a dismissal and leaves the tent. Kyungsoo follows a few minutes later, Baekhyun standing up and padding along behind him—his fur soaked to the bone, but his form so large that it does _nothing_ to make him any less imposing.

They arrive at Kyungsoo’s tent, at which point Baekhyun sheds the fur and walks over to where a plate of food and wine awaits. Kyungsoo’s stomach rumbles, so he follows, taking an offered piece of bread from Baekhyun’s hand and dipping it in the soup.

Flavor explodes on his tongue. He hums in approval and sits down to eat properly, though Baekhyun only pours himself a goblet of wine before retiring to one of the bed pallets.

Everything is quiet.

Kyungsoo basks in it for the bare moment it takes him to realize what that _means_.

His heart settles like lead in his stomach as he stands and places a hand on the pommel of his sword. It’s really too late.

Baekhyun’s mouth has already fallen open, his expression surprised, but not exceptionally so. Even with Dívo’s—Jongdae’s—hand wrapped around his throat, canting his head up, and his other hand buried through his chest, so visceral that Kyungsoo can see the Devil’s nails run through Baekhyun’s pretty skin.

Jongdae rips out Baekhyun’s heart and lets him fall limp, gasping as his body melts away and he is _banished_.

Then, Jongdae’s eyes flicker up to Kyungsoo’s. It’s his first good look at the other Devil, and immediately he sees the contrast between the two.

Jongdae’s got a masculine, angular jaw, with sharp eyes and curly, arrogant lips. He’s paler than Baekhyun, and slighter, too, with a smaller shoulder width and narrower hips. But, he is just as muscled—with ribbons of power running up his arms, his legs.

“Humans aren’t meant to order about the Gods,” Jongdae intones calmly, regarding Kyungsoo with an air of satisfaction. “It’s arrogant—unbecoming, really—of them.” He straightens up and raises Baekhyun’s black, ichor-covered heart up to eye-level. “I can kill you here, or, we can play a game.”

Kyungsoo draws his sword. It earns him a glinting smile and narrowing eyes. “I don’t play games with the Devil.”

“A shame—we really know how to compete. I mean, what is a game without high stakes?” Jongdae cants his head and walks closer, within reach of Kyungsoo’s sword. But Kyungsoo’s not so dumb as to think he’d be able to swing and kill the Devil before _it_ killed _him_.

Jongdae takes his silence as invitation to explain. “You eat his heart and not only will I not kill you, but I’ll not attack your men for the whole while that Baekhyun is… out of commission.”

Kyungsoo glances at the flesh and feels bile rise in his throat. Both at the simple fact that he’s looking upon and considering cannibalizing gore, but also because he _knows_ this is a trap. He’s just not sure he can get out of it. “What is the consequence?”

“Who says there needs to be a consequence? Perhaps, it’s only a test of your devotion to your men. Perhaps, it is a test of your bond with Baekhyun.”

“There is a consequence. You can tell me. It won’t change my choice, I imagine.”

“It’ll sicken you,” Jongdae says flatly. “You will rot from the inside out. And when you die, you will be condemned to His court.” He holds out the heart, his nails smeared with coal-colored ichor, his skin blemished by it.

Kyungsoo takes it from his hand, gagging at the heat of it, the stickiness of it, the _fleshiness_ of it.

It feels alive in his hand, as though it is still beating. Or, if not beating, simply… pulsing with power.

“Will it kill me, though?”

“No,” Jongdae says. “It will not. But no matter the manner of your death, no matter the choices you make in your life, you will wake in the Pits. Even if you attone for your faults, you are condemned.”

Kyungsoo’s sword hand rises, and with it, Jongdae frowns. But, just as quickly, Kyungsoo lowers it again, realizing it’s futile. He looks at the heart in hand and slowly, brings it to his mouth—breathing through his throat so as not to smell the metallic scent of flesh and blood. And he takes a bite.

Jongdae’s smile is blinding.

Kyungsoo spits the flesh out, drops the heart to the ground, and swings with his sword. But it swings though empty air. Jongdae is gone.

Kyungsoo sticks out his tongue, wipes it with the back of his hand. The acrid taste of ichor still invades his mouth. The heart still lies in a clump on the ground.

He wraps it in a cloth with shaking hands, and, after making sure he is presentable, walks out into camp to deposit that cloth in one of the bonfires. If the fire burns a little brighter, a little wilder, then… that’s not his problem.

***

“That Devil hasn’t attacked,” Chanyeol says when they make another push across the plains. They’re nearing Heolmkeep and its bridge. If they can keep up the forward momentum…

“The shaman’s protections must be working well, then,” Kyungsoo remarks, sharpening his sword distractedly. Now that Chanyeol’s brought it up, his mind immediately flits to that night in his tent, to the taste of Baekhyun’s blood, to the scent of his burning heart. Jongdae—by contrast—haunts his sleep. His eyes too sharp, his grin too knowing.

Sometimes, in the very deepest grips of sleep, Kyungsoo sees _both_ devils, wrapped around one another and _beckoning_ to him.

Chanyeol grunts, “I don’t think that’s the case. Perhaps, it has turned on them?” He proposes.

Kyungsoo shakes his head, “A Devil bound to a pact can’t turn on their summoner. Kadira, the shaman who summoned Baekhyun with me, was very clear about that. She said not to trust them, but so long as you were specific enough about your goals… there was little they could do.”

“If you say so,” Chanyeol replies. Thunder rumbles overhead.

It’s been nearly a week since Baekhyun was banished, and there hasn’t even been a glimmer of the Devil since.

That ends now, as the candles in the tent suddenly blaze bright. Chanyeol looks up at them and immediately begins to collect his things, “I’m going to head back to—“

“Now why would you do that?” Comes a teasing, rasping voice, as Baekhyun materalizes behind Chanyeol, playful gaze flicking up to Kyungsoo. He smoothes a hand down Chanyeol’s arm, along the muscle. “I’m such good company.”

Chanyeol looks at Kyungsoo, half in a panic.

“Knock it off,” Kyungsoo says, and to his surprise, Baekhyun listens, immediately dropping his hands and walking over to Kyungsoo. Chanyeol gets up in a clattering of armor and weapons, and leaves with no delay.

Baekhyun watches his exit amusedly, then turns back to Kyungsoo. “Jongdae didn’t rough you up too much, I hope?” He asks.

Kyungsoo shakes his head and wonders whether or not he should mention tasting Baekhyun’s blood, biting from his heart. He decides against it. If Baekhyun doesn’t already know, then there’s a chance that telling him could backfire on Kyungsoo. And he doesn’t want to take that chance. “No, he didn’t,” Kyungsoo says calmly. “Left right after he banished you.”

“Hm,” Baekhyun hums, cocking his head. “I’d have imagined he made more of a… scene,” he says. “But, no matter, I see you’ve not yet reached the bridge?”

Kyungsoo shakes his head. “The attack is planned for next week. In the meantime, we’re keeping the soldiers fed and warm. There’s only a single Oslini camp between us and Heolmkeep. The rest of their soldiers are at the castle.”

Baekhyun nods, “They’ll have scrounged up shamans of their own, I’m sure,” he says.

Kyungsoo tilts his head, as if to say: _perhaps_. But, the fact is… he doesn’t _think_ it’s very likely at all. Here in Seva, before Kyungsoo’s predecessor, the shamans were a respected part of society—eccentric, yes, but not hated, nor persecuted. Seva has _always_ been home to the Nabo Gods, and by extension, the Nabo Devils—Kabé and Dívo.

“Oslin led their persecutions a milennia ago,” Kyungsoo says. “Their shamans ran to the South, into our lands. And in the North, they worshipped the One God. They probably don’t have any real shamans left.”

Baekhyun shakes his head, “There is no one god. Balance is contradiction. One god is a paradox.” He rolls his eyes, “We guided humans by our own hands, and the second we leave you alone, you stray from our ways? You build societies of followers of a law against nature?” He laughs at it, incredulous and disbelieving. “Perhaps Jongdae’s sentiments about you are… justified.”

Kyungsoo huffs, “We live and we learn. That is the point, right? Regardless of what path we go down?”

Baekhyun shrugs, “I suppose.”

Silence stretches between them. A silence that Baekhyun breaks, “When were you going to admit you burned my heart?” He asks. Kyungsoo’s gaze flits form his sword to Baekhyun’s eyes—they’re _burning_ with emotion. Kyungsoo can’t decipher it, though.

“Does it matter?” Kyungsoo asks, holding his gaze.

Baekhyun laughs and crosses his arms. “It matters a great deal. When you summon a devil, we… promise a part of us to the pact. Jongdae promises his voice, and so, to release him from a pact, his throat must be cut in a… ‘pure’ stream. One untouched by civilization. It represents his detachment from the human world.”

Kyungsoo’s heart sinks as he realizes where this is going. “And how are you released from a pact?”

“Jongdae must kill me, and my summoner must burn my heart. It’s representative of my eternal service towards _him_ and the end of my service towards _you_ ,” Baekhyun says gently, even as Kyungsoo feels _fear_ rise like bile in his throat. “But, Jongdae has a nasty habit of breaking my pacts without my request.” He flips his palm upwards, offering it to Kyungsoo. “Allow us to renew.”

Kyungsoo stares at his palm, then back up to his face, eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”

Baekhyun gapes, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. “Do you not _want_ my help?” He asks.

Kyungsoo shakes his head and holds out a placating hand, “No—that’s not it. I just… why do you want to pact again? I was under the impression that you’re not fond of it. Listening to a human and all.”

Baekhyun snorts, “If I wasn’t interested in a pact, I wouldn’t have taken it in the first place.” He kneels then, placing his hands on Kyungsoo’s knees and leaning close, face canted up at Kyungsoo. It’s a position akin to worship. Akin to _offering_. “I’m a loyal dog, though,” he murmurs, “here by my choice and my choice only. Consider me… impressed by you.”

Kyungsoo’s frown deepens. “I don’t know what could have impressed you,” he says.

“Your devotion? It may not be directed towards _me_ , but I can still appreciate it. It’s become so rare for a human king to care for his people. Genuinely, so.” Baekhyun trails off, “I like that. I _reward_ that.” Again, he offers Kyungsoo his palm. “Just repeat your original request.”

“Protect my men and I. Slaughter the Oslini Army. Combat your lover. You are under _my_ influence, not I, yours. You serve me. When your purpose is complete, you will return to Hell,” Kyungsoo recites, remembering his original request.

Baekhyun seems satisfied. “I desire to serve _you_ ,” he says. The knife he conjures slices through their skin, wets their hands in blood, and seals the deal. But contrary to that first summoning, this time, Kyungsoo feels _fire_ warm his veins. Feels Baekhyun’s satisfaction as intensely as he feels his own relief.

Something’s different.

He doesn’t give it much thought, too focused on the coming attack.

And that attack becomes more relevant when they near Heolmkeep, a week or so later.

For Heolmkeep is a monstrosity, best put. It stands tall and imposing on the horizon, with a small outcropping of trees surrounding it and the beginning of the Wailing Mountains lying behind it. It’s bridge over the Tonimo River is similarly brutal, designed to choke the enemy.

The only thing about the bridge that Kyungsoo can be sure of is that they needn’t fear it being collapsed. Even though the catapults _could_ realistically break down the foundation, to send this bridge into the river would be… catastrophic. Anyone on the southside of the river would be trapped there, needing a boat to cross, and the same would go for the northside of the river.

The fields on the southland are better for farming.

Baekhyun gazes up at the castle. “So, this is the heart of your conflict?”

Kyungsoo shrugs, “When Heolmkeep was gifted to the Kingdom of Oslin… only the castle, its bridge, and whatever land we had _north_ of the river was given to them, as per _our_ documents and records.”

“But, _their_ records reward them with the land on the south of the river as well?”

“It would seem so,” Kyungsoo says.

“Humans,” Baekhyun mutters. His horse nickers as though in agreement. “We don’t have border skirmishes in Hell.”

“But you have borders?” Kyungsoo asks.

Baekhyun nods. “Jongdae rules in Mozuelle, which lies in the West. I rule in Zu’a, which lies in the east. We’re separated by the Midemo Sea. There are… land bridges that allow you to travel between the realms, but both are protected by guards and serpents, and other beasts. Spirits are not allowed to pass between the realms, just as the living are not allowed to remain within the realms.”

Kyungsoo shifts in his saddle. They’ve arrived at the place to set up camp, but he still has a bit to wait before his tent has been set up. So, he sits there and asks about Hell. “But the living are able to go to Hell?”

“They can be dragged there during a summoning. Sometimes, they can mistakenly enter it, like in instances when the magic in an area grows far too loud and shatters the glass. You fall through and Hell awaits you,” Baekhyun explains. “But, they’re not _meant_ to be there. You won’t be hunted down unless we wish it—“ he must be referring to Jongdae and himself, ”—but your bodies won’t last there. If we do not hunt you down, and you do not find your way out, you will either starve there and wake up a ghost or you will eat and, in time, become a ghost yourself.”

“Is it difficult to find food in Hell?” Kyungsoo asks.

Baekhyun shakes his head, “No, of course not. It’s _teeming_ with fruit and animals, bars and taverns. You can find food anywhere you go. But to eat the food of the dead is to become one of the dead.”

Kyungsoo thinks of Baekhyun’s heart, wonders if there is similarity there. “If one was to drink ichor… what would happen?” He asks.

Baekhyun casts him a wary glance. “Do you plan to bleed me?”

“I’ve already tasted yours. Our first pact,” he reminds.

“Oh, like that? It’s blood I freely gave to you and bound to the purpose of a pact. It cannot do anything to you. It was blood taken within understood bounds, if that makes sense?” He shrugs his shoulders, “But if you were to, say, kill me, that ichor would respond differently because it is unbound magic.” He doesn’t elaborate, much to Kyungsoo’s disappointment. He _should_ tell Baekhyun about the heart. But, his tongue won’t move. He still can’t quite trust the Devil. “Why the sudden interest in Hell?” Baekhyun asks.

Kyungsoo blinks, “Well, no one really knows what it’s like, so I was just curious.”

“There are people who know what it’s like,” Baekhyun says. “Those that have gone down and come back up. But, I understand.”

One of the laborers tasked with helping build the tents comes up, signaling to Kyungsoo that his tent is ready. “I’m going to do more planning with Chanyeol. Wait in the tent for me?” He tells Baekhyun.

He does just that, but later, when he returns to the tent and Baekhyun is there, lounging in a metal tub of water (under which is a collection of spread towels), and happy as a lark, he can’t help but feel surprised. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Absolutely,” Baekhyun says, then rises to stand in the basin, water cascading down his frame. “Come join me. You smell like sweat.”

Kyungsoo lifts a brow and sheds his armor and clothes, unable to meet Baekhyun’s gaze. Then, he steps inside the basin, gasping at the frigidness of the water. Baekhyun’s hands immediately run up his back, smoothing a scented oil over his skin. “You’re tense.”

“I’m riding into battle soon.”

“You have a few days,” Baekhyun chides, rubbing circles into his hips. “If you let the nerves hurt you _now,_ then, in your distraction, the swords will cut.” He rests his chin on Kyungsoo’s shoulder. “You will have all of your men alongside you. There’s no need for worries.”

Kyungsoo huffs. “I’ll worry, and I’ll get over it. I’m used to this.”

“Anxiety? That’s troublesome,” Baekhyun murmurs. “But I understand.” He stoops down and grabs a bowl from near the basin, fills it with water, and uses it to wash away the suds on Kyungsoo’s back. As soon as he’s finished he turns around and, grinning, says, “Do me.”

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes, but accepts the oil and lather from Baekhyun and begins to work over the devil’s skin. “You must be excited, then? Bloodlusty.”

“I am,” Baekhyun says candidly. “But, I’m more excited to have completed my side of our bargain.”

“You can stay at the palace until the next Midfall Dinner, for your work,” Kyungsoo says, realizing that even if Baekhyun completes his side of the deal, Kyungsoo’s yet to give him the experience he’d requested.

Kyungsoo can _hear_ Baekhyun’s satisfied grin. “I’m so glad. You’ll love my company,” Baekhyun says.

“I’m sure,” Kyungsoo drawls, rinsing Baekhyun off. His hands linger on Baekhyun’s skin, but as soon as the devil makes to turn around, Kyungsoo is shy again, and steps out of the bath. He can feel Baekhyun’s gaze resting on him, _raking_ up his form, but he doesn’t turn around until he’s redressed.

Baekhyun only nods his head then, an acknowledgement, “Let’s win the coming battle.”

Kyungsoo can get behind that.

***

He grips the hilt of his sword, tension lining his shoulders. They’re on the march towards Heolmkeep, pikes lowered, horses dancing, drummers drumming, and soldiers waiting… waiting their turn with bated breath. They _know_ this is _the_ battle of their lifetimes. If Heolmkeep returns to Sevan hands… then the kingdom returns to its size back during the Golden Days.

Baekhyun walks alongside him as the Hound, his head coming up to the same height as Kyungsoo’s horse’s back. His ears lie flat against his head, and all nine of his eyes scan the lines of soldiers ahead of them.

They walk in the middle of the action. Chanyeol sits at the back of the lines, watching from a vantage point, should he need to make judgment calls in the middle of the battle. But Kyungsoo… he is a new king, and was a warrior before that. It’s not right for him to sit in the back while men die for him. And if he falls, it’s no great loss. Chanyeol has the directive to succeed him, recognized by the Courts back home. Kyungsoo has no doubt there will be turmoil in the event of his death, but he’s confident Chanyeol will come out on top.

And that he will rule with a gracious heart.

_If you dwell on death, you invite it,_ Baekhyun’s voice murmurs, filtering through his head smoothly, calmingly. _Think on the present._

“Stay out of my head,” Kyungsoo commands, voice hard. The Hound’s head tilts in acquiesce, and just as quickly as Baekhyun had been a presence there, he is gone, leaving Kyungsoo feeling suspiciously empty. “I’m only preparing myself.”

All nine of Baekhyun’s eyes roll, his dissatisfaction and frustration palpable.

The drummers’ song grows louder, though the tempo remains the same, keeping the march of the men.

Heolmkeep begins to light up, archers setting fire to their arrows. The first volley comes down short of the Sevan forces. A few stray arrows even land upon the Oslini troops waiting on the bridge for them.

Still, they march, even as they reach the opposing army and the night becomes alive with the clangor of swords and shields, the whinnies and squeals of horses, and the yelling of the men.

“Is he on the field?” Kyungsoo asks, keeping the tempo of his approach. Baekhyun swings his great head around, ear flicking Kyungsoo’s way. And then, he nods his head, ever so slightly. He makes no move to go hunt, though, seems more concerned with keeping to Kyungsoo’s side.

Kyungsoo won’t question it, not now, when he feels the dull anxiety of the battle upon him.

Baekhyun rips out the throat of the first man who breaks through the lines at the depth Kyungsoo’s meant to fight at. It’s traumatic enough of an attack to behead the man. But Kyungsoo doesn’t have enough time to focus on it, now that the battle’s reached him.

He wields his sword conservatively, not wanting to wear himself out.

And then, Baekhyun _wails_ , thrown to the side by a blur of fur. A lion, sleek, built for the mountains, but with great jaws and claws, and four eyes narrowed into slits.

Kyungsoo looks to the direction it had come from and sees a horse and rider, both of whom wear gilded armor. It’s like the world narrows in on them.

How exciting that even the Oslini King has made his way onto the battlefield.

They’re both given room to allow their horses to move, circling as best they can. And, between them, perhaps the _only_ thing keeping both of the kings from attacking one another, Baekhyun and Jongdae’s familiars tussle and tear at one another, clumps of fur, of flesh, flung into the sky.

There’s a horrible cracking noise, and Kyungsoo’s gaze leaves the Oslini king’s just long enough to see Baekhyun’s back legs give out, the lion having crushed his spine. Baekhyun doesn’t give up, though, swinging his head around to snap onto the panther’s throat.

Kyungsoo parries his own enemy’s blade with little time to spare, a gasp weaseling its way from his throat. He grits his teeth just as fast, grunting as he swings his own sword, and has the move blocked. Both of their horses press together, keeping the kings locked in battle.

The Oslini King, Kim Minseok, is about Kyungsoo’s size, except, even under the armor, Kyungsoo can _tell_ he’s more muscular, more built than Kyungsoo is. Minseok packs on muscle and it’s evident in the way he fights, with brute force and arrogance.

Kyungsoo could typically out think a fighter like this, but pressed together and forced into close combat, he doesn’t have enough of a _chance_ to do so, forced onto the defensive more than the offensive.

Then, as quickly as he’d engaged with Kyungsoo, Minseok is wheeling his horse backwards and _retreating_ towards Heolmkeep.

Kyungsoo follows him onto the bridge, with a number of his men continuing the push forward as well. They will fight all the way up to the Keep’s walls and then some if they must. They are not going home without a victory.

Except… something’s wrong. He realizes it halfway across the bridge, watching as Minseok sends up a signal with his hand and sets his horse to a canter back towards the Northern Bank.

The bridge _shakes_. Kyungsoo throws up his own signal, yelling for the men to retreat. He’s heard, thankfully, but the men near the front with him _know_ there’s little to be done as the bridge shakes again, the deafening crack of a catapult volley ringing through the night.

It begins to crumble beneath his feet. Still, he shouts for the men to get back, striving to be heard, gladdened as his call is echoed down the lines and is _heeded_.

His attention’s brought to the Devils’ fight as Baekhyun throws Jongdae further along the bridge, the lion’s claws grating against the stone. But, rather than return and attack Baekhyun, the lion is melting away and becoming that wisp-like wraith and _rocketing_ after the Oslinis.

Kyungsoo’s horse loses its footing at the next shaking of the bridge, when the rock _really_ begins to crack and _fall_ inwards. But, Kyungsoo’s still got enough of a mind to see Jongdae’s wraith hook around Minseok’s reins and drag his horse to a bodily stop.

When Kyungsoo falls, Minseok falls too.


	3. Chapter 3

He falls into an ocean, water splashing up around him, pummeling his body as though it is concrete. And yet, still, he survives, thrusting his hands up towards the surface and clawing at the waves. In the torrent, he sees a mass of black fur, and so he reaches out and wrests his hands in it.

Baekhyun drags them both up to the surface, Kyungsoo breaking the waves with gasping breaths and choking coughs. The hound transforms into something not wholly realized, a mass of magic, but even through the shift, Kyungsoo’s able to hold on as Baekhyun swims them to the black rock shore.

Kyungsoo’s hands cut on the glass-like rocks, but he drags himself onto them all the same. Baekhyun follows him, shifting into his human skin and taking the time to vomit up the water he’d swallowed. “Jongdae!” He snarls, voice _loud_ and _angry_.

Laughter rings out around them, Jongdae’s head breaking the surface of the water. A few meters away from him, the Oslini King’s head breaches the surface, gasping. He’s obviously a strong swimmer, though, and appears to have already undone the straps of his heavy armor.

At least, that’s one thing Kyungsoo’s managed to save. He’s still got his armor, even if his sword lies at the bottom of the sea.

“Where are we?” Kyungsoo asks as soon as he’s caught his breath. Baekhyun bristles beside him, as though the only thing keeping him from throttling Jongdae is that the other Devil remains in the water, out of reach.

“Hell,” Baekhyun states, his tone clipped. “Near the Upper Land Bridge,” he explains. Then, he’s climbing to his feet and shaking a finger at Jongdae, yelling at him in a language Kyungsoo has no grasp on.

Minseok finally makes it to shore, climbing up in on his hands and knees, _shaking_ from exhaustion.

Kyungsoo eyes him warily, but without armor or a weapon, Minseok’s no threat. “This is your fault,” Kyungsoo says with a curl of his lips. “If you never summoned that thing, we’d never be in this situation.”

“You’d be dead,” Minseok coughs. “You’d just have fought back to the bridge, and we’d have collapsed it all the same.”

“Perhaps,” Kyungsoo scowls, and he looks back out into the sea. He expects to see some of his soldiers, but, there’s no one in the choppy surf. It’s just a basin of tumultuous black waves.

As Baekhyun and Jongdae argue, and both humans struggle to catch their breath, Kyungsoo’s attention is once again brought to something behind him. The rumble of the ground suggests… steps, but, given how loud, how powerful they are…

He turns around in time to see two great, basalt golems pass him up, walking into the ocean. One of the golems takes Baekhyun by the arm—bone-crushingly tight—and drags him away from the water. The other golem trudges through the black sea, sparking a horrified look on Jongdae’s face. But, it catches him by the ankle before he can swim away, and drags the devil back to shore.

Baekhyun’s face pales and he stoops down, grabbing up one of the black, shore rocks, and cuts open his hand.

When the golem holding Jongdae comes back onto the shore, Jongdae reaches out, grasps Baekhyun’s hand, and then thrusts his blood-covered palm into his golem’s face.

Both of them are released, the golems returning to a stationary pose and losing their animation.

Baekhyun grabs Jongdae’s wrist and drags him up the beach, tugging Kyungsoo along on the way.

It’s a beat of hesitance, but Kyungsoo offers his hand out to Minseok, and brings _him_ along too, as Baekhyun jogs them up away from the water and into the treeline. “What was that?” Minseok hisses.

“ _Jongdae_ doesn’t belong on this side of the sea. It’s one thing to be banished in the overworld, and another thing entirely to get banished in Hell,” Baekhyun explains, only stopping now that they’re covered by the trees. “Golems are created from simple magic, they’re easy to fool if you know how they work.”

Kyungsoo’s gaze flicks to Jongdae’s bloody palm. “You tricked them.”

Baekhyun nods, eyebrows furrowed, a firm frown pressed into his lips. “But Hell will begin to see through this farce in time. We have to get to Zu’a. There, I can get _you_ —“ he looks at Jongdae pointedly, ”—a better disguise, and _hopefully_ , I can figure out a way to get you humans back in your world.”

Jongdae’s gaze glimmers mischievously, as though he knows something Baekhyun doesn’t, but he doesn’t argue. “It’s been so long since I’ve visited Zu’a,” he says lightly.

“That’s because the last time you did, we were at war,” Baekhyun snaps. He rubs a hand down his face. “ _Why’d_ you not just take _him?_ ” Baekhyun jerks his thumb at Minseok even as he begins walking in the direction of what must be the Kingdom Zu’a.

“It’s not good for us to have attachments with _mortals_ ,” Jongdae hums, walking alongside Baekhyun. “I _tried_ to avoid bringing all four of us down, but then you went and renewed your pact.”

Baekhyun rolls his eyes, and begins to bicker with Jongdae.

Kyungsoo tunes out, glancing over at Minseok and swallowing his animosity. “Are you all right? You were underwater for a while.”

Minseok raises a brow, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. But, he shrugs, “I think I’m fine. Why do you care?”

Kyungsoo snorts, “Would you prefer I not?” And falls into silence, looking around at their scenery instead.

Rather than fields of green, the grass here is a muted purple and red—an inversion of the colors on the overworld. The sky in the far distance, hanging over the land across the sea, is a reddish yellow, and the sun is an icey blue (casting cool light rather than warm light). Inversely, the moon, which hangs above Baekhyun’s realm, is a deep, brazen red, the casts a nightmarish glow over his land.

The tree bark varies in color, always dull, always muted, as do the leaves. But, there are flowers and other flora that serve to make the world bright. The longer Kyungsoo walks, the more he feels at ease in this place, and starts to see it as something neutral, not something negative.

“This is Eastern Hell?” He asks.

Jongdae and Baekhyun both give him a hum of affirmation.

“What does Western Hell look like?” He asks, reaching out to pluck a flower from its stem.

“Gravel, rock, and water,” Jongdae responds.

Baekhyun explains, “In Western Hell, you live by order. Here, you live as you please. Jongdae’s realm is like the overworld, but more barren. It requires more of its spirits. It’s like a second, harsher life. An eternal one, though. My realm is designed to be wild. It is hunt or be hunted. I don’t _rule_ so much as _suggest_ a style of living.”

Minseok’s lip curls, “If you’re hunted?”

“You cease to be,” Baekhyun says calmly. “It’s true death. Your energy comes back to me free of consciousness.”

Kyungsoo tilts his head, considering it. Perhaps it’s that he’s been around Baekhyun as of late, or perhaps it’s that he fears the unknown most of all, but… Eastern Hell is much more comforting of a thought to him. Probably just because it has a chance to be temporary, whereas Jongdae’s is an eternity.

But that’s not quite right, either, since Kyungsoo can find comfort in eternity, too.

“Get down,” Baekhyun hisses, breaking his train of thought. He looks up. Ahead of them, there’s a group of… imps? Minseok grips his wrist and pulls him behind a tree, his eyes saying, _“Just this once_.”

There’s hoofbeats, and then, a figure in black, militaresque clothes appears astride a horse with cloven hooves and bull-like horns. He holds one of his hands up towards and axe strapped to his back, primed to wield it, and scans the field, eyebrows furrowing when he spots Baekhyun amidst the trees. His hand falls back to his lap.

“ _Bo Xian?”_ The demon calls out questioningly. “What are you doing so close to the Midemo?”

Baekhyun grins placatingly and walks away from where Jongdae, Kyungsoo, and Minseok all hide. “Yixing,” he greets pleasantly, “I should ask _you_ the same. What brings you near the land bridges?”

Yixing’s eyes narrow. He obviously realizes that something’s up, especially since Baekhyun avoided his question. “I’m on my way to replace some golems. Junmyeon… dragged some of them down to Altimo to prove a point,” his lip curls in exasperation. “And don’t dance around my question,” he chides, “why are _you_ here?”

Baekhyun rolls his eyes, “Junmyeon and I are on _good_ terms—“

”Probably why he ruined the bridge’s security,” Yixing comments, interrupting.

“—if he needed some golems, then he needed some golems. In _fact_ , there’s a pair of them back that way,” he motions behind him, “near the shore that would be _delighted_ to get put to good use, I’m sure.”

“You’re still avoiding my—“ Yixing pauses mid-sentence, lips parting and sucking in a slow breath. He gasps a second later. “Do you have a _human_ with you?!” He sputters.

Baekhyun rubs the back of his neck, “Does it matter?”

Yixing gapes. “Of course it does!” He looks towards the trees where Kyungsoo and Minseok hide and calls out to them. “Come out, I know you’re there.”

Kyungsoo steps from his hiding place, followed belatedly by Minseok. _Jongdae_ , on the other hand, sinks down into the underbrush, avoiding Yixing’s line of sight. Kyungsoo gives him only a passing glance out of the corner of his eye before he refocuses on Yixing. “Hello,” he says, pushing his anxiety to the back of his mind.

Yixing shakes his head, frowning. “The longer you keep them here alive, the more the scales tip into chaos,” he says.

Baekhyun nods, “I know,” he says seriously. “I’m going to get them home. My gate. It’s in Zu’a.” Then, looking up at Yixing atop his horse, his eyes soften and he flutters his lashes. “You _know_ ,” he singsongs.

“No,” Yixing says flatly. “I’m not giving you an escort.” He turns around, glancing at the beasts chained in a line behind him, jaws slavering, all of them having caught scent of the humans. “But, I will give you a warning. Iru’s hosting a Hunt. By the time of the synergy tonight, they’ll be prowling this forest. Your humans will die quick.”

Baekhyun pales. “At least give me one of your beasts,” he bargains, motioning at the line of creatures behind Yixing.

Again, Yixing shakes his head, “I need them for the bridge—“

“ _Yixing_ ,” Baekhyun pleads. “I’ll create a mass of soldiers for your damn bridge if you just give me a beast _now_.”

Yixing rolls his eyes and glances at Kyungsoo, who meets his gaze with as much courage as he can. “We didn’t mean to be here,” Kyungsoo says simply, “We’d appreciate leaving here as soon as we are able.”

Yixing stares at him, raising a single brow as though he’s _amused_ by Kyungsoo’s diction. But, after a tense few minutes of silence, he inclines his head. “Which do you want, my Lord?” He says, tone just shy of mockery.

Baekhyun purses his lips. “Give me the buffalo,” he says. Immediately, the beasts chains fall undone, and it shies away from the group. Baekhyun gasps, waving his hand in its direction. Vines reach up from the floor and secure around the animal’s legs, keeping it from bolting. He glares at Yixing. “Enjoy your trip to the Bridge,” he mutters.

Yixing grins. “Of course, have fun with your humans. And tell Jongdae that the next time he fails to greet me, I’ll put my axe through his head.” He waves at the place where Jongdae hides, and then, jerks the leads of the monsters behind him, continuing his pace back towards the way Baekhyun had come.

Jongdae chokes from his place in hiding. “When did he get around to talking to me like that?!” He protests, brushing purple dirt off of his clothes and reuniting with them on the path. He eyes the buffalo warily. And for good reason. It’s not… quite like those in the overworld, which means it’s probably nothing like anything in _his_ realm.

The beast has a crown of horns that run round its neck and head, and the fur around its neck is long, stringy, dreaded in places, braided in others. Its haunches are short-haired, revealing muscular legs and buttocks. It’s a beast well suited to brute force. Not one for speed.

Baekhyun commands the vines to form something of a saddle on the beast’s long back. He can _easily_ fit both Kings in it. And that’s what he does, boosting Kyungsoo and Minseok into the saddle. “We’re going to head back towards the Midemo, and track the shore towards Zu’a. There’s an obelisk out in the sea. Come the synergy, I’ll swim everyone out to it, and that’s where we’ll remain for the duration of the hunt.”

“What’s the synergy?” Minseok asks.

“When the Eastern Moon meets the Western Sun and becomes one,” Jongdae explains, then, he outstretches his arms and his fingers stretch into feathers. He rises into the sky with a beat of his wings and becomes a heron.

Baekhyun watches his shift, then mimics it with one of his own, becoming his typical hound. In Hell, though, his fur has a quality of iridescence not unlike oil, with muted rainbows running along his side. His eyes too, rather than that bright red, are a pale silvery blue.

A vine fashions itself into a lead for the buffalo, of which, Baekhyun takes the end in his teeth, and he begins to lead the way with a loping gate, Jongdae flying overhead.

With neither of the Devils to talk to, Kyungsoo’s only bet is Minseok. “So, what convinced you to summon him?” He asks, jerking his head up at Jongdae.

Minseok glances at him then looks back ahead. “Despite having greater numbers, and you being a new king, your General kept outwitting us. Long wars aren’t good for morale, and my popularity back home was wavering,” he explains. “It was my sister’s recommendation to look into our Forbidden Vaults and see if there was something there of aid, since the God of Old was doing nothing to help us, despite our prayers.”

Kyungsoo hums, “Chanyeol is a good general,” he agrees. “Wanted to get the war over with quick. Got excited when the end was in sight, and then…”

“Dívo,” Minseok murmurs.

Kyungsoo nods in agreement. “How did that go?”

“Tell me about your experience first,” Minseok counters.

“All right,” Kyungsoo says with a shrug. “I had my advisor go out to the exiled lands in search of a shaman. He found a woman named Kadira, who agreed to help me. She told me a little bit about the god, and then, explained the dangers of a summoning. She told me Dívo was trickier to control because he was easier to incorrectly summon. Kabé, though… he was difficult to summon only because you had to genuinely catch his attention, and even then he didn’t necessarily feel compelled to appear.”

“But he appeared?” Minseok questions.

“Of course,” Kyungsoo says. “He rose up from my horse, covered in gore and masked. And then, he asked me what I desired. We made a deal, and the deal was secured. We renewed our pact a few days before the Battle at Heolmkeep. Now, tell me about your summoning,” he wonders.

Minseok’s quiet before he begins to explain it, relates having a priest summon Dívo up following directions from an ancient tome. He describes Jongdae’s godly form with ease, explaining the veil, the spindly hands, the antlers, and the music that accompanied him. “I wasn’t specific enough, apparently. He told me he would cut down two soldiers in the morning, in the afternoon, and then five in the evening. I assumed this to be your soldiers.”

“But they were yours. Kadira told me something like that may have happened. Said the Devils killed in nines, so the four we lost every day didn’t make any sense.”

Minseok purses his lips, “We didn’t have any warnings. And the Devil was meant to be subservient to me, but the longer I think about it, the more I think he only played tricks.”

They reach the shoreline and walk along it. Baekhyun leads far off in front of them, obviously scouting for golems and the like. Kyungsoo’s not quite sure _how_ Hell works, yet, but it’s obvious that while Baekhyun _rules_ here, it’s not to the standard that kings rule in the overworld.

“Do you regret summoning him?” Kyungsoo asks.

Minseok nods. “Ended up having to collapse the bridge anyways, so what does it matter. You pushed back in the end anyways. If we’d managed to capture Sengise, then perhaps it would have been worth, but… we didn’t.”

In the distance, Kyungsoo spots the obelisk, a huge grey tower a few minutes off of the shore, and it’s now that it really hits him. He’s in Hell, likely presumed dead by all those in the overworld. And while there’s something… soothing about that thought, there’s also something so overly frightening about it that he can’t quite bring himself to feel at ease. “How long do you think we’ll be caught here?” He asks.

Minseok shakes his head. “I hope it’s not long.”

Kyungsoo hopes so too, Baekhyun’s warning about eating fruit from Hell immediately coming to mind.

***

An hour later sees all of them having crossed the water and entering the obelisk. Soaked to the bone once more (and just when they’d begun to dry off), their clothes stick to their skin uncomfortably, chaffing and scratching with every step they take towards the huge building. Yet, as they walk, Kyungsoo can’t help but feel like this realm feels… old. Older than the land of forests right across the small stretch of sea.

This feels like _the_ foundation.

“Don’t eat anything you see,” Baekhyun warns, slipping into his human body and guiding their climb up the rocks and into the obelisk’s entrance. “It’s meant for gods, not men.” And then, he’s entering the obelisk. Jongdae follows next, immediately relaxing once he passes the threshold. This place feels like him, oddly enough, leading Kyungsoo to wonder if it _is_ his.

Upon Kyungsoo’s entrance, he sees what Baekhyun had been referring to. Inside the entry foyer, surrounding a spiral staircase that lies in the middle of the room, is a garden _full_ of fruit. Water bubbles in pools on the floor, and the trees seem to _bend_ towards the ground with the weight of the fruit clinging to their branches. Kyungsoo’s mouth waters, Minseok’s stomach rumbling at the same time. Jongdae grins at the sound.

Kyungsoo has no doubt Jongdae’d like to see them suffer the consequences of Hell’s temptations.

He’s not even sure _Baekhyun_ would be too bothered, if he’s completely honest. Baekhyun _is_ still a devil, after all.

The next level of the tower is filled with treasure and gems, bones and burnt meat, oils and spices. Kyungsoo’s initially assaulted by the scent, but it’s not a bad scent. Only smoky and _strong_ … _rich_ and reminiscent of a Temple. An offering room then?

Baekhyun trails his hand through a pile of gold coins, but continues upstairs. On the third level, the floor looks like _stars_. Amidst the pool of inky black, which Baekhyun steps through without hesitance, is cloudy, land-form shaped bubbles not unlike seafoam. Kyungsoo stares at it, then realizes it’s a map of _their_ world. He recognizes only a small part of it, where both his kingdom, and Minseok’s lie.

They continue upstairs, Kyungsoo having to drag his eyes from the almost _interactive_ , realistic looking map. The fourth level is empty apart from two statues, and is frigidly cold. The statue on the left is that of a human, one hand pledged across their chest, the other hand gripping their own throat. They are faceless, but their nails and the decorations that drape the statue—bloody teeth and bones—suggest that it represent the Cannibal. Kabé. Baekhyun.

The other statue stands with their hands pressed together, pearls hanging from their hands, over their shoulders. They are veiled and crowned with antlers and bells. It must represent the Creator. Dívo. Jongdae.

The last level is floored by what looks like clouds, and the ceiling appears like the night sky. Baekhyun stops here and collapses into the clouds, sighing as his body’s welcomed by the plush resting place. “You’ll have to go hungry for tonight, and perhaps for tomorrow night as well,” he says.

Jongdae hums, “Or, you could go to the Garden and eat.”

Baekhyun rolls his eyes, “But hopefully you can manage. It shouldn’t be… too difficult on your bodies. You’re both soldiers. Should be used to a few days hungry.”

“Ah, but they’re kings, too,” Jongdae teases. “How used to hunger can they be?” He singsongs.

Kyungsoo thinks he can handle it, if he’s completely honest. Not happily, so, but he can do it. Minseok seems similarly resolved, if only because he doesn’t want to remain in Hell any longer than he must. “We’ll manage,” Kyungsoo says, sitting down on the clouds. They’re like the finest mattresses in the palace, like pillows made of goose feathers.

It’s actually incredibly nice to lay down against, treating all of his bones and joints kindly.

Jongdae collapses next to Baekhyun, crawling up next to him and curling into his side, perfectly content. “So, what’s the plan?” He asks.

Baekhyun sighs, “Get to Zu’a. There, I have a permanent gate. I can let both of you back up into the overworld, though I can’t ensure you’ll survive the trekk to civilization. My gate opens up at the Mouth of the Tonimo, in the Banished Lands. In Zu’a, I’ll also be able to give _him_ —” he nuzzles against Jongdae affectionately, even if his tone is less than impressed, “—some of my clothes and a mask. Then send him along the Lower Land Bridge.”

“Why not the one we were just at?” Minseok asks, cocking his head.

“Junmyeon and Jongdae have a little feud. It’s better Jongdae not go anywhere near him. That being said, during the summer—” It’s winter in the overworld, “—the Lower Land Bridge is underwater. May have to take our chances coming back this way _anyways_.” Baekhyun says on second thought, groaning. “Regardless, it’s not your concern. You’ll be back in the overworld by that time.”

“How long will it take to reach Zu’a?” Kyungsoo wonders.

Jongdae cards his fingers through Baekhyun’s hair, soothing him. “Should only take a day if we have no interruptions. We started at the midway point between the Bridge and the City, in all actuality. Yixing was only surprised because, well, Baekhyun doesn’t normally hunt very far from the city.”

Baekhyun nods, “And if I stray, I always stray towards the southern side of the city, rather than the North. Yixing and I normally only cross paths within Zu’a. So…”

“What is he?” Minseok asks. “I mean, what rank does he have to threaten the Kings of Hell.” Kyungsoo remembers then, how he’d warned Jongdae about any future impudence.

“He’s a Harvester, or a Weaver, whichever you prefer to think of him as. He gleans souls that aren’t meant to be in either of the Hells and is one of the few devils that can travel between the two realms. He’s… not within our purview. Doesn’t have to answer to us.”

“The books said you are the foundation of all creation,” Minseok argues, “He can’t possibly be outside of your purview.”

Baekhyun makes a pained expression. “It’s complicated? He’s like an extension of the both of us. The manifestation of our similarities? It’s why he can go across and come back. It’s why we don’t have power over him. But, I suppose, by technicality, he can’t exist without us, and if the world was to fold back into us, he would go with it, but…” He trails off.

Kyungsoo nods anyways, thinking he understands it _somewhat_ , at the very least.

“You should sleep, though,” Baekhyun coaxes. “The nights here are long, and they’re… nightmarish in their own way, magic going haywire. You’ll want to avoid being lucid for it.”

That’s hardly going to help Kyungsoo sleep, but he shoots Baekhyun a look of acknowledgement and situates himself near one of the walls, far from the staircase (lest he roll over, and off the ledge in his sleep). Minseok does the same. But, while it’s comfortable to lay down, it’s _cold_ here.

When Kyungsoo’s teeth begin to chatter, he only curls more tightly around himself. Until, a hand like a furnace comes to rest on his arm. Baekhyun doesn’t lie down next to him, but he does stay there beside Kyungsoo, rubbing his back and soothing him into an alarmingly easy sleep.

***

When he wakes, Baekhyun’s still sat beside him, his head resting against the wall, eyes shut. As soon as Kyungsoo shifts, though, they’re fluttering open and he’s looking over at Kyungsoo, not a trace of fatigue in his gaze. “We have to leave in a few minutes for Zu’a. Are you still strong enough, even without eating?” He knows Kyungsoo had forgone a last dinner before the Battle at Heolmkeep (a personal ritual Kyungsoo had to prevent him from getting sick on the field).

“I’m fine,” Kyungsoo said, standing up and walking with Baekhyun over to the staircase. He pauses at the top of the stairs, though, and looks to Baekhyun. “I have a question though. Why are you helping me? Honestly.”

Baekhyun raises a brow. “I reward devotion. I thought I already told you. The Devils aren’t evil, we’re only… amoral. I’m not going to hurt you if I have no reason to.” He hums, seems to weigh something out in mind, but decides against voicing it. “Either way, allowing you out of Hell invites worship. I gain nothing from killing you, but, letting you live… at the very least, I receive a devoted worshipper.”

Kyungsoo nods. He’ll worship the very ground Baekhyun walks on if he manages to get back to the overworld. _Hell_ , he’s already ready to worship Baekhyun, if only for the help he provided on the battlefield. “I understand.”

“Not quite sure you do, but I’ll take it,” Baekhyun quips, and holds out a hand to lead Kyungsoo down the stairwell.

At the base of the Obelisk, Baekhyun once more swims everyone back to the shore (except for Jongdae, who takes to the sky as a bird again). On shore, though, comes the disappointing realization that their steed, the buffalo, hadn’t survived the Hunt the previous night.

Baekhyun picks over its bones with a scowl etched onto his face, cursing under his breath. “Okay, new plan,” he says clapping his hands together. “We’re going to stop in Iru and pick up mounts to ride to Zu’a. And, if we can, we’ll ride through the night.”

He leads them into the forest, talking as they walk. “Seems like now would have been a good time to keep the horse you sacrificed me,” he says.

Kyungsoo thinks back to the summoning, “Yes, that would have been good thinking. Now, it lies at the bottom of the river, I’m sure.”

“Yixing will find it eventually, return it to the arcane,” Baekhyun says, “Don’t worry about it too much. All things go back into being eventually.”

So, without a horse, they continue walking along. As they do, Baekhyun makes conversation, asking about the human world with increasing curiosity. As it turns out, though he’s still worshipped in the marshes, he doesn’t appear amongst humans often. Hasn’t pacted in over a century. So, everything Minseok and Kyungsoo tell him about their lives seems to invigorate and excite him. “So, how did the two of you become kings?” He asks suddenly. “Is it still birthright, or are you elected, or?”

“It’s by birthright,” Minseok says, “As the firstborn son I inherited my father’s crown in the wake of his death.” He shrugs his shoulders, “I’ve grown up my entire life knowing I would one day be king.”

“And now you’ve had it ripped from you,” Jongdae singsongs blithely, sharpening a wooden stick into a crude spear as he walks.

Minseok purses his lips, “I _assume_ I’ll be able to reclaim my crown once I’m free from this place,” he says.

Kyungsoo listens to all of this with trepidation, knowing in time, he’ll be asked to explain his rise to power. Sure enough, only a minute later, and interrupting the other two’s bickering, Baekhyun’s asking about Kyungsoo’s ascension. He already knows that Kyungsoo’s predecessor was the one to ban magics and god worship, but Kyungsoo supposes he knows nothing outside of that.

“I killed my king and assumed his Throne. We had a bad flooding season, the people in the outlying villages had come to us looking for safety. Even the people in the city were begging to come into the inner city, but he wouldn’t open the gates for them. They couldn’t get to high ground. Would have drowned in the storms if someone hadn’t acted,” Kyungsoo says.

Minseok glances at him, “You’re a traitor to your country,” he says, shocked.

Kyungsoo shrugs, “I did what was best for the people. What point is there in being a king if there is no one to follow your order?”

Jongdae hums, “That’s true,” he concedes, much to Kyungsoo’s surprise. Jongdae doesn’t seem like the type to reason in favor with him.

“Were you a part of the Kingsguard, or?” Baekhyun wonders, looking at him with an unreadable gaze.

“I was Head of Security for the royal family,” Kyungsoo agrees. “Chanyeol was the Queensguard, and I, the King’s. Executing the King was the only way to grab power, and I was lucky that Chanyeol threw his support behind me without question. Otherwise, I doubt I’d be alive today.”

“They’d have burned you at the stake, or quartered you and placed your head on a pike,” Jongdae agrees.

“The King who never wanted to be King,” Baekhyun murmurs, tone just shy of impressed. “How curious.” And just as quickly as the subject had come up, it is dropped.

“How about you? Are our myths about the beginning of the world correct? Humans were shaped from clay and spit, and made to walk a world built solely for them to hunt, to civilize, to rule?” Minseok asks. It sounds like something gotten from a book, and, considering Minseok _did_ only hear of Dívo from a book… it’s not a far cry to say that _is_ where he got it.

Baekhyun snorts, “That’s such a… watered down version of creation.”

“You are flesh of the Cannibal,” Jongdae says, “you are his bone, his blood, his spit. He is your pulse. _I_ am your wit, your emotion, your consciousness. I am what makes you more than animals, but it would be arrogant to think this world was made for _you_.”

“Jongdae is your cruelty, he’s also your affection. I am your desire. The quickening of your heartbeat, Your adrenaline, or lack thereof. He is the master of the mind and I am the master of the body,” Baekhyun continues. “Creation is our playground, consistently changing, never final. And there is always room to… take things back. To reconvene and renavigate what it means to us. Jongdae is the dynamo and I am the—“ Baekhyun stops talking mid-sentence. Kyungsoo ducks into the tall grass on impulse.

Minseok is similarly reflexive, crouching in the underbrush with him.

Jongdae’s not as quick to hide—probably isn’t _used_ to hiding, so, when the pair of riders trot from the trees—he’s quite obviously in their line of sight. There’s _no_ hesitation with them. The first woman pulls a bow from her shoulders, notches an arrow, and lets it fly all in the span of a second.

Jongdae’s hit, but commands his body to dematerialize—halfway between forms and wraith-like—and he shies away from the conflict.

It’s the wrong move, for the second rider is kicking her heels into her nightmarish horse’s sides and _bolting_ after him, Baekhyun yelling at her to “ _stop!”_ just a beat too late.

Kyungsoo’s hand wraps around one of the rocks at his feet and, if only because he _knows_ Baekhyun would be hurt to see Jongdae banished, _lobs_ it at the rider just before they dash past him.

It does its job and drags her attention from Jongdae, who’s disappearing into the sky, now, and puts it right on… _him_.

Perhaps he didn’t think this through.

“A human, my Lord? As well as the Musician?” The archer asks, raising a brow. She draws her bow again, this time, aiming for Kyungsoo.

Baekhyun _growls_ , sounding like the hell-creature he very much is.“If you _try_ and spill his blood, I’ll banish you to the bottom of the fucking sea, Irene.”

She rolls her eyes, “That would require you to kill me first, and honestly?” She cants her chin up, looking down on Baekhyun with such an air of superiority, that for a moment, Kyungsoo believes her to actually outrank him. “I don’t think you’re capable.”

Baekhyun’s lip curls “I’d come back time and time again, though. Eventually, you’ll tire out.” It’s a warning to his immortality against her mortality. “A Focus can always be… recreated if it fails to serve its purpose.”

“A god will _always,_ eventually, fall into obscurity. And what power do you have, then, without any worship?” Irene continues. She turns her gaze back onto Kyungsoo. “You’re not the only human, are you…” her gaze searches the tall grass.

The other rider, that which Kyungsoo had hit with the rock, points the tip of her sword into the field. “There.”

Minseok rises up, caught out as well now.

“You can have that one, Seulgi,” Baekhyun says blithely, clapping his hands together and looking _particularly_ pleased.

Kyungsoo shoots him a glare, shaking his head. Minseok takes a step back. “A death in Hell is hardly an honorable death. At the very least, a king must die in his own realm—no?” Kyungsoo barters, gaze flicking back between Irene and Seulgi. Their expressions remain the same, much like cats who have gotten the cream. “Where’s the glory, the rush, in killing us mere humans?” Kyungsoo supposes, changing tactics.

“Exactly that,” Baekhyun jumps in, drawing the attention back to himself. “Why don’t you two go hunt down Jongdae—if you really think you can catch him—and we’ll just continue on our merry way?”

Seulgi crosses her arms. “And _why_ would we do that, my Lord? You _know_ it’s growing closer and closer to the Zenith… humans in Hell make for a great feast.” She grins, tapping her chin, “And as Focuses, we’re meant to _provide_ for our courts.”

They’re at a stalemate. “Is there anything I can do to convince you to leave us be?” Minseok asks, opening his palms congenially. He’s a clever man; Kyungsoo has no doubt that he’s got something up he sleeves.

Irene’s eyes narrow. “One of you comes with us. _Perhaps_ , we can be swayed to let the other go free.”

Minseok links his hand with Kyungsoo’s, and, before Kyungsoo can jerk his hand away, says, “Demons respect marriages, don’t they? You wouldn’t separate me from my mate?” Kyungsoo suppresses a gag at the word—what are they? Animals?

Seulgi snorts, laughing, “All the more reason to cook the both of you?”

“You’d spill the blood of a sacred bond?” Minseok continues. Behind the two riders, Baekhyun stands looking half-thoughtful, half-apprehensive. “Surely, there are consequences for such an action,” Minseok goes on, digging them a deeper hole. All Kyungsoo can think is that he hopes there’s a way out of it.

Irene pauses, though, at Minseok’s suggestion—even if Seulgi continues to laugh—and then, she _scowls_. “It’ll feed the Zenith.”

“Of course it will,” Seulgi says.

Baekhyun shakes his head, “No, she means it will _feed_ the Zenith. Your courts will turn on you. Will turn on me. Zu’a will eat up the blood of their partnership and the Midemo will swallow us up. I will have to reconvene in the Maw and create my realm anew.” He crosses his arms. “The Zenith is a hungry beast—it’s better to starve it than satiate it.” His warning hangs in the air.

“We can still kill them here,” Irene says, though her tone isn’t as sharp as before.

“You’re fond of the chase. Like Kyungsoo said, there’s nothing to gain if they’re waiting for your blades,” Baekhyun reasons, taking over. He walks to stand in front of them, defensive, but not overly amped up now that things have calmed down. “Go after the Musician,” he coaxes. “You won’t catch him, but you can try.”

Both women regard them coldly, but, if only _just_ , Baekhyun and his guests have won their argument—have reasoned their way out of this one.

“You best get to your Keep, soon, my _Lord_ ,” Seulgi says, poison dripping in her tone. “Who knows… the next people you bump into may not be so… generous.”

“Of course,” Baekhyun smoothes over congenially. “And your generosity won’t go unrewarded. I’ll see that both of your courts are given ample game to hunt for the Zenith celebrations.”

Seulgi begins to guide her horse away, but Irene hesitates a moment longer, and finally, she points to Kyungsoo. “Come here.”

He’s not going to anger her by refusing, _knowing_ they’ve only gotten out of trouble by a hair’s breadth. He walks up to her steed in jilted, apprehensive steps. She reaches out, and, with the tip of her nail, cuts his bottom lip, swiping the bead of blood off with her finger as Kyungsoo flinches away.

As he watches, she tastes the blood on her finger, and, like she’s had a revelation, her lips curl into a grin. “It’s a pleasure bargaining with you, my Lord. Know there are sentinels in Iru. I wouldn’t suggest going.” And with that, she’s urging her horse to follow Seulgi’s.

“What the hell was that?” Baekhyun asks, staring at Kyungsoo. “Come here, give me a taste.”

Kyungsoo shakes his head, eyes wide, “It’s nothing, Baekhyun. Just figure out what we’re going to do if we have to avoid Iru.”

Baekhyun holds his gaze, then, nods, and looks beyond Kyungsoo, where Minseok stands. “That was clever. I like how you think. A marriage bond? Never would have considered it,” he motions for them to continue walking, brushing off the question Kyungsoo asks about Jongdae’s well-being. “How’d you know demons care anything about marriage?”

“I didn’t. Hoped overworld things worked in the underworld,” Minseok says. He glances at Kyungsoo, no doubt trying to parse how Kyungsoo had felt, still feels, about the farce.

Baekhyun shrugs, “They… kind of do. Our marriages are different, but Hell recognizes human bonds too. I’m not sure Irene really believed you—you two looked about as in love as could be expected—but she won’t chance feeding the Zenith.” He continues leading them along, though Kyungsoo notices he’s changed trajectory at this point.

“When are the Zenith celebrations?” Kyungsoo asks.

“Three nights. Time passes differently in Hell,” Baekhyun says, “It celebrates the Winter Solstice, the Long Night. In Hell, we experience a night as long as a week for the overworld, _and_ , our gates in the overworld open. Game sometimes runs through to join those things in Hell we already Hunt. It’s a time of feasting, the most powerful Eastern Hell gets.”

Minseok hums, “So, for Western Hell, it’s probably opposite?”

“You’re catching on,” Baekhyun says proudly.

They walk a while longer, and then, come up on a great tree. Baekhyun checks it out, then, presses his hand to the trunk, a door appearing where it had once been smooth bark. Baekhyun swings it open and motions for the two humans to come inside. “I’m going to go into Iru alone and get horses. You two can stay here.”

And then he _leaves_.

Kyungsoo’s gaze flicks over to Minseok, and then, he takes up a spot on the ground as far away from the other king as is possible. “I can’t believe you told them we’re married. It’s not even custom in your nation to allow that,” he says.

“But it is in yours,” Minseok says calmly, “and the devils are probably much more accustomed with Sevan customs, given you worshipped them much more recently. Besides, it was mentioned in my book that a marriage bond can sometimes be recognized by the Devils. So, I knew the Hells had to have _some_ respect for it.”

“You told Baekhyun you just thought it’d be the same as the overworld.”

“I don’t want him to know exactly what I know. There were… other spells and incantations in that book that worked against the Devils. If he knew that _I_ knew them, I worry he’d feed me to his court,” Minseok says simply. “I’m not an idiot. I just want to survive this Hell. Literally.”

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes, but has to admit it’s clever. He feels like he’s floundering despite his growing trust in Baekhyun. He knows _nothing_ about the Gods, having been born in the time of the persecutions, and in the Palace no less. Prior to what Jongin and the soldiers on the Front explained to him, Kyungsoo hadn’t given gods any manner of thought. And now, he’s forced into their world.

“Do you trust Jongdae?” Kyungsoo asks.

“No,” Minseok says flatly. “Feel like if I take one misstep he’ll be there to watch me fall.”

Kyungsoo nods, looking to the ground, hands clasped together. “I’m trying to decide if I’m foolish for trusting Baekhyun.”

“I suppose you don’t have much choice,” Minseok says, “Hell, even I have to trust him right now. Though, I’m not going to get into the delusion that he’s not what he is.”

Kyungsoo doesn’t think he sees Baekhyun as anything other than what he is—a Devil and creature of Hell. But, he’d like to think he understands the Devil as something… grey rather than outright evil, now. At least, from seeing his interactions with Jongdae, with the demons in Hell, and his own experiences.

“Sun’s going to go down, soon,” Minseok says about an hour later, when Baekhyun’s _still_ yet to return.

Kyungsoo feels a flash of fear. Jongdae hasn’t reappeared, either, not that Kyungsoo really thinks that’d _help_. Still, Baekhyun had told him just the night before that nights in Hell are… _nightmares_. And, he can’t quite bring himself to sleep, not when they’re hidden in a giant, hollow tree. Kyungsoo has no doubts any good hellhound could sniff them out with little struggle. “Baekhyun said the nights are… rough here. Told me last night, to coax me to sleep.”

Minseok glances up at that, meeting Kyungsoo’s eyes similarly concerned. “Are you serious?”

Kyungsoo nods. “I don’t want to be a sitting duck.”

“We don’t have any weapons,” Minseok says, voice cold. “Whether we stay or go, we’ll get slaughtered. But, if we stay, Baekhyun might get back before anyone else finds us.” He leaves unspoken that, if they leave, they may not be able to find Baekhyun again, or Baekhyun, them.

A howl punctuates air.

“I don’t think he’ll get back in time,” Kyungsoo says. “You can stay, but I’m going.”

Minseok follows him out, though, just as the forest begins to be bathed in the red light of the moon. The first thing Kyungsoo grabs for is a fallen branch. It won’t do anything lethal, but if he can at least _bat_ away anything that attacks them… that’s better than nothing.

Minseok does the same, then points in the Baekhyun had disappeared to earlier, “We can try going towards that Iru place, in case Baekhyun’s on his way back. Could meet him in the middle,” he suggests. It’s a good idea, so the both of them set off in that direction as the forest grows a bloodier and bloodier shade, the air thickening to a hot, humid soup. It’s not long before Kyungsoo begins to sweat, and as he does, he realizes they’re just going to be like beacons to anything with a dog-like sense of smell.

Irene, Seulgi, and Yixing had all been able to recognize them as humans at a distance. And they seemed vaguely humanoid. Will the animalistic hunters recognize them more easily? Is there a genuine difference in abilities for humanoid demons and animals?

“Shh—“ Minseok murmurs, rattling Kyungsoo from his thoughts. He puts a hand in front of Kyungsoo’s chest, forcing him to a halt.

The woodland is _silent_ , a far cry from the earlier rustling and howling and liveliness that it _had_ been.

The bushes explode with movement, a beast like a dragon throwing itself out of the underbrush.

Kyungsoo acts immediately, slamming his bat into the dragon’s open jaws and jumping out of the way at the same time. Minseok’s already running, glancing back to see how Kyungsoo’s fared.

 _Some help, he is,_ Kyungsoo thinks, teeth grit as he takes off at a run _after_ him. Behind him, he hears the dragon wheeling around and facing them again, its paws eating up ground as it takes off at a gallop.

The chase is on, and Kyungsoo’s not going to win it.

Minseok slows down, then, points at his armor. “Take it off! It’s slowing you down,” he snarls.

It’s also probably going to be the only thing that protects him from one of those great dragon claws. They’re long enough to cut his flesh into ribbons; if he drops the armor…

“If it catches up to you, that armor won’t stop it,” Minseok reasons. He vaults himself up onto a rock and offers Kyungsoo a hand, pulling him up beside him. Kyungsoo starts undoing the knots that hold his chest plate together. Minseok helps him, then, hurriedly helps Kyungsoo lift it over his head, diving off of the rocks before the armor even clatters to the ground.

Kyungsoo’s on his heels, _yelping_ as he feels the dragon’s hot breath on his back.

They’re coming up on what looks like a ledge. Kyungsoo hardly has time to shout warning, but even so, Minseok’s already at the edge. He _jumps_ , reflexively, and best thank the gods that there’s a fallen tree overhanging the ravine. He catches onto it just barely, arms straining, chest heaving.

Kyungsoo takes the leap of faith, but loses his footing on the precipice. Still, he jumps, but, it’s not as powerful as might have hoped.

He’s going to plummet.

Minseok grabs his wrist, the tree _creaking_ under their weight, Minseok gasping in exertation as he struggles to hold Kyungsoo’s body weight up against gravity and his momentum. “Don’t let go,” he yells, wrapping his arm around the thickest part of the tree branch.

Hot pain laces down Kyungsoo’s leg as the dragon stretches out over the ravine and tries to _claw_ him from Minseok’s grip.

The rocks on the ledge crumble free. There’s a moment of silence, and then, a growling sort of wail as the dragon _plummets_ into the dark. Kyungsoo never hears it hit the ground.

He catches his breath, dangling over the ravine, blood seeping from the cuts in his leg, and then, readjusts his grip on Minseok’s hand, pulling himself up with brute strength. As soon as he’s scrambling onto the tree’s branches, he’s letting go of Minseok in order to cling to the wood—body shaking.

Even the fall from the Bridge at Heolmkeep was not as terrifying as this.

Perhaps it's because the ravine’s edge looks like jagged teeth, and the dark of its crevice, like a gaping mouth.

“Thank you,” Kyungsoo breathes. That’s twice now that Minseok’s _saved_ him. Once with Irene and Seulgi, and now, with that demonic dragon. He glances back the way they’d come, half expecting to see something else crawling out of the dark. But, things are quiet once more.

He looks down at his leg, pressing a shaking hand to the place where his pants have been ripped to neat shreds, a jagged series of cuts tearing through his flesh. He feels faint. He’s had injuries before, but always, they’ve been _swords_ or _arrows_ or brush burns from falling.

This is something he’s wholly unused to, and seeing his leg in such bad shape sends a wave of sickness up his throat.

“Hey, look up here. I’m sure whenever Baekhyun finds us he’ll be able to help. Don’t think about it, right now,” Minseok tries to soothe, also looking vaguely ill. He offers Kyungsoo a hand all the same, lip curling when Kyungsoo gives him his sticky, bloodied one.

They climb over the dead branches and rotting tree trunk until they’re back on solid ground. But, with Kyungsoo bleeding and both of them sweating from their run… he feels exactly as exposed as he had felt _prior_ to being attacked. “We need to hide. Maybe there’s a ledge back in that chasm?” It’s hard to admit that he feels _wrong_ , like perhaps they _shouldn’t_ have left behind the tree—especially if they’re just going to try and hide and wait it out again, but, he can’t run with his leg like this.

Minseok frowns, but he doesn’t disagree, instead, he’s the one to walk along the ledge—as carefully as he can—looking for a place to drop down into the ravine and hug the wall _safely_. He finally _does_ find a promising spot, at which point, he calls Kyungsoo over from where he’d taken up a seat on the rotting tree trunk.

Kyungsoo limps over, wincing.

“I can lower you down and then drop down myself,” Minseok says. Kyungsoo only nods, not in the mood to argue. He links his hand with Minseok’s and, with the trust of a lamb, allows Minseok to lower him down over the ledge, careful to try and keep his mind blank, lest he panic and kill them both.

His feet touch solid stone, and he lets go of Minseok’s hand, throwing his weight _forward_ , towards the wall.

Minseok drops down a moment later, a finger to his lips. “I heard something,” his whispers in explanation, similarly flattening himself against the wall.

Kyungsoo hears it too a few minutes later. A snuffling, like he’s being tracked. A fox for the bloodhound.

His heart thunders in his chest. If whatever’s _above_ them drops down… they’re dead. No chances otherwise.

But then, he sees a flash of fur leap across the ravine and continue down their _old_ path. He breathes a sigh of relief and turns to Minseok. “Why’d you save me?” He asks bluntly. They’re enemies.

“Baekhyun has no reason to help me back into the overworld if you die. He already tried to bargain me away once. You’re the only reason he _didn’t_.”

“Don’t like having people die for me,” Kyungsoo mutters.

“Says a King with a whole army of men ready to die for him,” Minseok counters.

Kyungsoo shrugs, “I never wanted to be King. I don’t need hero worship. I only _became_ king to _save_ people. To protect people. I wanted them to have justice, law, peace.” He shakes his head, “I’m doing a shit job of it, but…” _Not everyone gets what they want._

A scream punctuates the air, followed by a throng of laughter and jeering.

Kyungsoo and Minseok hunch back down, scared into silence. As the night grows longer, the sounds in the forest grow wilder, louder, more horrific. Kyungsoo’s certain that he hears several beasts get cut down. He _also_ feels as though he hears _Jongdae’s_ laughter filtering through the trees—discombobulated, echoing, and alarming, but still _his_.

By the time midnight rolls around, the screams change from something beastly and unfamiliar and begin taking on the sound of people Kyungsoo _knows_. His father. His mother. His brother. He hears them _all_ , like whispers in his ears.

Minseok’s curled up in a ball, hands over his ears, but Kyungsoo can only let his head thunk back against the wall, his eyes glazed, his mind _numb_.

 _Soo-yah_ , they whisper, they wail. _Why aren’t you helping us? Can’t you save us? Bring us back,_ they plead.

Kyungsoo can only shake his head, close his eyes, and _pray_ that the voices stop.

They don’t, but in time, Kyungsoo’s able to tune them out as though they are merely white noise. It doesn’t stop the coldness from seeping through his heart. That deep sadness that never quite goes away.

Which is why, when the white sun begins to rise, Kyungsoo nearly cries. His skin’s grown more pale and ashen throughout the night, though the bleeding had slowed to a stop an hour or so before dawn. He _feels_ lightheaded and distracted, his heart pattering anxiously.

At least, it seems Minseok had been able to sleep—fitfully, but sleep nonetheless.

Something drops down onto their ledge, startling a scream out of Kyungsoo’s throat, his heart leaping up into his mouth.

It’s Baekhyun, who, to his part, looks a _little_ apologetic when he sees Kyungsoo’s panic (and Minseok’s resulting one, as he startles awake at the sound of Kyungsoo’s scream).

“ _Shh, shh_ ,” Baekhyun says, eyes wide, finger pressed to his lip. “Don’t bring more attention to yourselves than you already have. Come here,” he crouches down next to Kyungsoo, sparing Minseok only a passing glance before all of his attention’s on Kyungsoo’s leg. “Wow, this is nasty. How’d you get it?”

“Some dragon thing,” Kyungsoo says, wincing when Baekhyun’s fingers brush over the wound. “Missed the jump across,” he explains, nodding his head up at the fallen tree overhanging the ravine. Baekhyun follows his gaze, nodding. “Minseok caught me, but the dragon got my leg,” he says.

“Ouch,” Baekhyun commiserates, and then, he grasps the wound with a _brutal_ grip.

Kyungsoo curls inwards, screaming again. This time, it’s Minseok who slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide and scanning the opposite ledge for unwanted company.

Baekhyun releases his leg. Kyungsoo whimpers.

The wound’s closed up, though ugly scars remain in its place, a reminder of what had happened. The ache remains too. He’s not sure if he’ll ever walk quite like he did prior to the injury, even with Baekhyun’s healing.

Baekhyun brings his hand up to his mouth, tastes the blood that mars it before Kyungsoo can stop him. His eyes widen, “Did you eat something here?!” He hisses, hand falling from his lips, shoulders shaking with concealed anger.

Kyungsoo shakes his head, “I haven’t eaten anything here.”

“He hasn’t,” Minseok says, backing him up, eyeing Baekhyun warily. “I’d have noticed.” As though to puncuate their statement, both of their stomachs rumble, the spindly fingers of hunger gripping onto them.

Baekhyun’s brow furrows. “Nothing?”

Kyungsoo repeats his negative. He’s not eaten anything since coming to Hell. And he hadn’t _eaten_ Baekhyun’s heart, those nights before Heolmkeep, but… perhaps. He remains quiet about it. “Why?”

Baekhyun wipes his palm on his clothes. “I don’t know, I…” He trails off, at a loss for words. “Whatever. Come on, I got us horses. Jongdae’s waiting up there,” he jerks his head up. Then, he gets up from his crouch and hauls himself back over the ledge of the ravine, his hand reappearing a moment later to help pull them both up.

Kyungsoo grits his teeth against the pain, panting as Minseok’s lifted out of the ravine. Then, he turns his attention to the horses. There are four of them. Jongdae sits atop one, whose body is thickly muscled and more bull-like than actual horse. The animal has the two eyes at either side of its head, but also an eye in the center of its chest. The animal’s fur thickens along its back, and at its fetlocks, covering its hooves. It looks like it could run through a wall with little damage.

The other horses aren’t so similar. These seem built for speed, with powerful haunches and shoulders, but thin, whippet-like bodies. They’re maneless, and their necks and faces are covered with a multitude of blinking eyes in its absence. Kyungsoo’s not wholly put at ease by them, but, at least they look fast.

He needed fast last night, when that monster was chasing them.

“You need help?” Minseok asks, pulling himself into one of the empty saddles. He grips the reins of another horse and holds it still while Kyungsoo lifts himself into its saddle.

“Thanks,” he says, settling into the worn leather.

Baekhyun takes his own saddle, and reins his horse around, facing the direction Minseok and Kyungsoo had both been running the night before. “Let’s go, we got held back a bit, so we’ll probably have to camp out one more night, but…”

“Zu’a is on the horizon,” Jongdae intones lazily, urging his beast of a horse into a canter.

Not ones to waste time, Kyungsoo and Minseok are quick to follow him. At the speed they travel, talking isn’t really an option, and it leaves Kyungsoo in his thoughts. And, all he can think about is replaying the moment Baekhyun had tasted his blood and asked if he’d eaten from the fruits of Hell. It _worries_ him deeply, because… Baekhyun’s wrong, but… if that’s what he’d thought immediately after tasting Kyungsoo’s blood… it has to have some credence?

Jongdae told him that to consume Baekhyun’s heart would be to allow his soul to rot. Had told him it would condemn Kyungsoo to Baekhyun’s realm in the event he died, no matter what choices Kyungsoo made in his life.

Perhaps, that’s why Baekhyun thinks he ate from Hell. Perhaps, it’s only that Kyungsoo’s already on his trip to eternity here, and it means nothing right now. Perhaps…

Minseok slows down sometime in the middle of their journey, prompting Kyungsoo to do the same, allowing their horses to canter alongside one another. Baekhyun and Jongdae still ride point, a few horse lengths ahead of them. More importantly, they’re out of earshot. “What Baekhyun said? You didn’t actually eat anything, did you?”

Kyungsoo shakes his head, “No, I take his warnings seriously. I don’t want to get trapped here,” he says loud enough to be heard over the horses’ hoofbeats, but low enough that neither of the Devils tune in to the conversation.

“Are you sure?” Minseok asks. “I mean, I figure you are, but perhaps it was accidental?”

“I’m sure. I’ve not had anything in Hell. Just like you haven’t,” Kyungsoo says, pressing his fingers to his temple, trying to lessen his coming headache. “I have to get back to the overworld. I don’t belong here.” But his heart pulses as though that’s not right.

He shoves the feeling to the back of his mind.

***

They set up camp in a field, which makes Kyungsoo’s nerves go off like warning bells. But, Baekhyun notices his obvious discomfort and soothes him by saying, at least, in the open, they’ll be able to see what’s coming. The second problem that comes with setting up camp in the field is that Jongdae sets a fire and begins roasting meat and vegetables that he’d gathered along the way.

“It’ll help mask your scent,” he explains simply. But Jongdae _knows_ the small feast is also tempting—probably revels in it.

Kyungsoo could nearly drool, he wants to eat so bad, and yet, only Jongdae and Baekhyun eat that night, tearing flesh off the bone, and washing it down with wine.

Minseok’s already tapped out, and sits a distance away, where he can’t smell the cooking food.

Kyungsoo’s about to join him when Baekhyun comes over to where he sits and takes a seat right next to him, dragging Kyungsoo’s attention from Minseok onto him. “I hope I didn’t worry you earlier,” he drawls. “Your blood just tasted… richer than it should of. Or at least, richer than I remembered.” He clasps his hands together, relaxed and at ease. “But, if you didn’t eat anything, you should be fine. I can’t think of anything here that’ll condemn you other than the food or drink.”

Kyungsoo nods slowly, “We’re going to die of thirst soon. It’s so hot here, we can’t stop sweating.”

Baekhyun hums, conjuring a knife from the air. He slices it across his palm, allowing his black blood—ichor—to pool in his palm. “Drink then,” he offers, lifting his hand to Kyungsoo’s lips.

Kyungsoo stares at him, eyes wide, unsure, but Baekhyun’s gaze is strong, honest, worried. Kyungsoo trusts him.

The last time Kyungsoo drank ichor, it had tasted acrid, like the smoke of a fire, like the scorch of charcoal. This time, it’s smooth—still with a warm taste, but… gentler on him. Blood freely given with no ulterior motive except to sustain him.

Baekhyun pulls his hand away, watching Kyungsoo with dark eyes. “You’ll survive a few days, yet,” Baekhyun jokes, returning his hands to his knees. “Should I offer a goblet to Minseok?” He asks.

“Why are you asking me?” Kyungsoo asks.

“Why not? I am still promised to you, aren’t I?” Baekhyun cocks his head.

Kyungsoo’s speechless, regarding Baekhyun with something akin to affection. “Please, do. I don’t want him dying here. He’s already helped me twice.” So, Baekhyun gets up, conjuring a golden chalice in hand, and holds his hand above the lip. As he walks over to Minseok, someone else comes to sit at Kyungsoo’s side—they’re presence _sharp_ and demanding.

“When are you going to tell him?” Jongdae purrs, mirth hardly hidden from his tone.

“About?” Kyungsoo stalls.

Jongdae only laughs, “You _know_ what, but let’s play dumb then, human.” Only now does Kyungsoo look over and take in the Devil’s presence. “You can’t keep it from him too long… the Zenith is coming.” This is the second time the celebrations have been mentioned, now, and Jongdae’s tone suggests he knows something Kyungsoo doesn’t. But, seeing as Kyungsoo and Minseok aren’t actually married… well, he doesn’t know _what_ Jongdae could be threatening him with.

“The Zenith can come, Jongdae. If you expect to scare me, you really must give it up. I’ll manage. I always do,” Kyungsoo says. Jongdae _does_ scare him, and he’s quite sure the Devil can taste his fear, but he won’t say it openly.

Surprisingly, though, this doesn’t meet rebuttal. In fact, Jongdae’s demeanor shifts, malicious mirth melting into… curiosity. A deeper intrigue than Kyungsoo’s ever witnessed from him. “Is that so?”

Kyungsoo nods. Baekhyun’s footsteps near them again, and he sits in the grass next to them, running one hand up Jongdae’s leg affectionately and the leaving the other to tug at the grass. “I imagine you two are getting along plenty well?” He questions, eyeing them apprehensively.

“Surely not,” Jongdae says, tapping Baekhyun’s nose playfully. “But that doesn’t matter much, now does it?”

“Perhaps it does,” Baekhyun murmurs. He turns to where Minseok sits alone, “Come join us, little king. You’ll never make allies on your lonesome.”

Minseok gets up, though he wears a scowl when he does so. He takes a seat in the grass near them, but not overly close, his gaze locked on Jongdae warily. The Devil preens. “Don’t look so nervous,” Jongdae teases. “We’re harmless.” _Hardly_.

“As if I’d believe that,” Minseok says drily. He locks his arms around his legs, sat comfortably, but defensively. His gaze finds Kyungsoo searchingly, as though curious as to how deeply Kyungsoo and Baekhyun trust one another. As to _how_ comfortable Kyungsoo must be to be able to stand Jongdae’s oppressive energy. “How long until the night comes alive?” He asks, no doubt referring to the whispers of the dead.

Baekhyun shrugs, “You’ve got an hour or so. Sleeping now would be a good idea, though I can’t say I advise it tonight. We’ll probably want to pack up while the moon’s still above us. We’re close to Zu’a, though, so you’ll be able to rest there. The gates won’t open until the Zenith.”

Kyungsoo looks over, “Were we to have fallen here just after the Zenith?”

“You’d die here,” Jongdae says curtly. “You’d have to wait for Imbolc. It’s forty-five, forty-six days depending. You’d have starved.” He appears disappointed, as though he would have timed himself better had Kyungsoo not attacked Heolmkeep. In fact, the more Kyungsoo thinks about it, Jongdae’s plan had probably _been_ to drag Minseok down just after the Zenith—or even during it, to act as a feast.

“Fortuitous, then, that we’re early,” Minseok says, looking equally as troubled by their close brush with death.

“Certainly,” Jongdae purrs. Baekhyun glances at him, eyes narrowed, but he says nothing incendiary, only returns his gaze to Kyungsoo.

“The spirits will be kinder with us around,” he says by way of comfort. “The living see us for our wildness. The dead see us for our serenity.” Baekhyun leans back on his hands, relaxing. “Hell is so troubling for you both because you’re not yet meant to be here. _Your_ dead—“ Kyungsoo remembers his family’s voices: mother, father, and brother. ”—Don’t want you to be here. They know you’ve not met your fate, and so, they try to guide you out.”

Jongdae hums, unnaturally sober for once, “They can’t communicate that to you, though. You cannot hear the knowledge of the realm, so, when they speak to you, you hear the closest match for their emotions while they were alive. You hear the moments they warned you when they were alive. You hear the moments when they were afraid for you.”

Baekhyun nods, continuing, “It makes the night terrifying. And they don’t understand that they’re terrorizing you. It’s a miscommunication born from love, from fear,” he says. “They still only want the best for you.”

Minseok looks up sharply and shakes his head, “They don’t always,” he says bitterly. “Not everyone has dead who loved them.”

They fall silent, weighing his words.

Jongdae’s the one to concede, “You’re right,” he says, but he doesn’t offer comfort. None of them do. It’s not their place to wade.

The spirits do come, though, as the night progresses. But, as the Devils had explained, they _are_ calmer, quieter now. And, with Baekhyun and Jongdae both there, they’re visible. Kyungsoo spots his mother in the throng, but so does Baekhyun—understanding intrinsically that flash of horror that rises in Kyungsoo’s gut. Before he can get another glimpse of that charred, spectral body, the spirit’s been banished, swallowed up by those other nameless faces surrounding them. The look Baekhyun gives him is halfway between melancholy and concern.

Kyungsoo brushes him off and regards the other spirits. He can’t hear most of them, their voices swallowed up by the sounds of Hell.

The spirits that flock around Jongdae are those of musicians, with instruments in hand, children, who clutch flowers and dolls, and royally-robed people—nobility, kings, and queens. Baekhyun’s crowd is far more varied, and most of them bear more gruesome injuries. Minseok’s the one who asks about it.

“I am the god of thieves, of vagabonds, of traitors, of hunters, and sometimes… soldiers,” Baekhyun lists off, allowing the spirits to grab onto his hands. He banishes his phantoms more frequently than Jongdae does, seemingly wishing their quiet. “The restless dead, who deserve a long sleep,” he says, continuing to banish them.

Jongdae hums, “In my realm, we don’t have these spirits,” he says. “But, those who fall under my purview sometimes come here. The children more wild than sweet, the musicians attuned to revolution, the kings and queens who forwent the law in pursuit of pleasure.” He greets his spirits with more restraint, which makes sense. They did not live by his values, and so, they remain in Baekhyun’s realm instead.

“I heard my father the night before,” Minseok says. “I didn’t hear my mother, or my uncle.”

“They’re not a part of this realm,” Baekhyun says, looking away.

Kyungsoo sees how Minseok’s countenance shatters, if only briefly. Sees that look of betrayal, of _deep_ hurt and anger. Sees his face return to stoicism, guardedness.

Soon, the Devils lose their novelty, and the spirits focus more on the two humans. It’s difficult, though, to look at them when they bear such grotesque injuries. Baekhyun had said he was the god of thieves, of traitors, of hunters… and those are not men that meet gentle deaths. “You value devotion,” Kyungsoo says, “Why do you have traitors among your devotees?”

“To challenge the system is to believe in something better,” Baekhyun says. “To betray a lover is to be more devoted to another. Nothing is black and white.”

Kyungsoo scans over the ghosts, over those obviously burned at the stake, over those hanged, those beheaded, even those that sop with water, as though they’ve been drowned. There are others too, soldiers that Kyungsoo recognizes but who fail to recognize him. Still others, men and women bearing bows, or axes, whose injuries are the gorings of hogs, the burn of the cold, or even the breaking of bones.

It’s overwhelming.

More so when Kyungsoo finally sees his father, his heart _aching_ , though, at the very least… his father doesn’t bear the same injuries as his mother. His father is pristine. Looks as he did when he was alive.

Baekhyun banishes him, though belatedly so, giving Kyungsoo’s heart some time to settle, to commit his father’s image to memory.

The moment doesn’t last, Jongdae suddenly rising. “We have to go.”

They waste no time saddling the horses again and setting off at a canter. The phantoms do not follow, their glow left long behind. Minseok’s remained quiet since the revelation that some of his family had not come to Baekhyun’s realm. Kyungsoo would try and offer him _some_ comfort, but…

“Golems,” Baekhyun says, standing in his stirrups and looking behind them. He rides the canter of his horse easily, as though he’s spent his whole life in the saddle. Given he’s the god of wild things, he may as well have. “And… is that Yixing again?”

“He has _not_ been to the Bridge and back,” Jongdae muses, turning to look as well. He’s more unstable on the horse, but, he still seems at ease. Probably because, if he falls, he won’t die—he’ll merely become something else and survive. “Hm. It _is_ him, though. Did he really bring golems for backup?”

Baekhyun continues looking, his eyes narrowing further. “Junmyeon’s with him.”

“What?” Jongdae’s noise of shock—of _fear_ —coaxes Kyungsoo to look behind them as well, curiosity blazing. Indeed, the coming troupe is… concerning. Yixing rides his black horse with stunning speed and ease. Behind him, two stone golems in the shape of worms bury themselves in the ground and leap back out, as though they were fish.

And, behind the two of them, a _titan_ rises up from behind a hill, body made of pearl and ocean water.

“He has _no_ reason walking my realm like _that_ ,” Baekhyun hisses, and waves his hand back towards the pursuit. The titan falls forward, body becoming more human and disappearing from view. “That should delay them… somewhat.” Then, he glances at Jongdae, lips pulling into a grin. “Better make sure Myeon doesn’t catch you,” he yells over the hoofbeats.

Jongdae hunches down over his horse’s neck and urges it faster.

Minseok grins, though, “What happens if he _does_?” He wonders aloud.

“He’ll drown Jongdae in the Midemo,” Baekhyun laughs. His mirth seems less for the fact that Jongdae would be banished and more for the simple absurdity of the chase at hand. “Better run faster. The Rabbit God’ll have you in no time.”

At this Jongdae ditches the horse, taking to the sky as a bird and disappearing into the night. Baekhyun laughs the whole while before urging Kyungsoo and Minseok to go faster. “Junmyeon’ll be after Jongdae, but Yixing’s here for you two.”

Kyungsoo nods, hunching down and goading his horse to gallop faster. Baekhyun leaps from his horse, though, and peels into his furs and paws—galloping alongside them as that great hellhound.

Minseok meets Kyungsoo’s gaze on the offbeat of their horse’s hooves. “We _need_ to have weapons if this keeps happening,” he yells.

His horse goes down, hoof hitting the ground wrong.

Kyungsoo reaches out on a whim, grabs his arm, and tugs him out of the saddle. It’s due only to their combined strength that he doesn’t immediately fall to the ground—where he’d certainly be killed by Kyungsoo’s horse’s hooves. Still, the animal’s jilted by Minseok’s sudden weight, and the awkwardness of how he’s held against the animal’s belly, just shy of those sharp, deadly hooves.

Kyungsoo has to slow the animal down. And, in doing so, Yixing gains on them—and quickly.

“Baekhyun!” He yells, “We need weapons!”

The hound’s eyes gleam, and then, bursting from the ground, weapons of bone and wood. A sword, a maul, and a bow (with its arrows).

Kyungsoo reaches for the maul—a heavy hammer-like weapon—and holds it with its head resting on the ground, waiting for Yixing to near them. He’d seen the Reaper’s axe back the first time they’d met him. Minseok, who’s grabbed the bow, will likely be more useful here—given he has a ranged weapon to counter Yixing (and Kyungsoo’s) short range weapons.

He looses an arrow as soon as Yixing’s within range.

Yixing’s body dematerializes and the arrows passes right through his chest.

Kyungsoo waits with rising hopelessness as Yixing’s chest reknits itself and he rides closer.

Baekhyun circles them, biding his time, waiting until Yixing draws close before he even thinks of attacking the Reaper. And even then, Kyungsoo can sense his apprehension. Remembers Baekhyun saying Yixing’s just as strong as them, perhaps, even more influential than they.

The golems reach them first, Yixing slowing down to let the stone homunculi the chance to take care of his job for him. Kyungsoo brings his maul into one of the soldier’s knees, cracking the stone apart and tumbling it to the ground. But, the other one reaches for him and catches him.

He has no immediate help, Baekhyun having advanced to meet Yixing on the field, and Minseok focused on drawing another arrow.

The golem has him by the throat, though, and its grip is _crushing_.

As quickly as it had picked him up, it drops him. Or rather, it’s arm falls from its body, as though chiseled away. Kyungsoo’s leg buckles under the weight of his fall, and he crumples to the ground. And when he looks up, he sees a stranger stood next to the golem.

It wears a rabbit-faced mask, with a shawl of fishing net and pearls draping his shoulders. A belt decorated with fish scales holds together more pearl strings, and a sheer, kilt-like wrap. He wears sandals of simple leather, built for walking on sand, not running through the fields.

He’s armed with a spear, decorated with teeth and pearls and shells, carved from bone with a blade of sea glass.

Kyungsoo reaches for his hammer, but the stranger—this _must_ be Junmyeon, the Rabbit God—steps on the handle, and then, kicks it away with ease. “Baekhyun knows the law. And he broke it?” Junmyeon poses his statement like a question. Perhaps, it is. He raises his spear nonetheless, seemingly ready to run Kyungsoo through with it.

“Baekhyun didn’t bring us here,” Kyungsoo argues, “Jongdae did.” He flinches away from the point of the spear, his hand brandished defensively.

“Is that so?” Junmyeon says. His voice has changed, relaxed, though his annoyance is palpable. He buries the head of his spear in the dirt next to Kyungsoo and turns around. “Yixing, knock it off!”

The reaper pauses mid-swing, having to dematerialize in order to stop his blow from cutting through Minseok. When he rematerializes, he _also_ wears a face none too pleased. “What?”

“Go after Jongdae, he’s the cause of this all.”

“If we kill the humans it doesn’t much matter, now does it?” Yixing argues.

“Jongdae’ll never learn his lesson. What we _ought_ to do is throw him into the Midemo while it boils, just so he knows _why_ we don’t tip the balance here in Hell.”

Baekhyun resumes a human skin, eyes wide. “The Midemo’s boiling?”

“Why else would I waste my time chasing you and your humans down?” Junmyeon questions. “The upper land bridge has flooded, and I imagine the same will soon happen to the lower. Hell is uneasy, Baekhyun, all due to your lover’s useless trials.”

“You would not be here if not for my lover’s useless trials,” Baekhyun says calmly. “You would not be a God speaking to me as though you outrank me.”

“Hell has no rank,” Junmyeon dismisses easily, waving Baekhyun off. “I do have to admit, though. Your humans have… grit. But, if you didn’t bring them here then, what, are you getting them out of here?”

“I’m trying to get them to my gate. Which I _told_ Yixing,” Baekhyun says, shooting a glare his way. Yixing only crosses his arms and stares right back—just as stubborn. “I don’t want them here; you don’t want them here, so let’s work together. When you ride us down, you slow us down.”

Junmyeon hums, “And Jongdae? What are you doing with him?”

“Was going to disguise him and send him across the Lower Land Bridge, though, if its flooded…” Baekhyun trails off.

“Can’t you just take a boat?” Minseok asks aloud, shying away from Yixing to come stand closer to where Kyungsoo still sits in the dirt and grass. “Like, sail across?”

Each resident of Hell cringes at the suggestion. “We _can_ ,” Baekhyun says, “but we can’t. The only way is to go through the bottom of the Tonimo in a human boat _from_ the overworld. To crash through the sky and survive the dive. They’re not… good odds.” At that, Baekhyun turns from Minseok and back to Junmyeon. “Once these two are gone, the land bridges ought to reveal again. Jongdae may stay longer, but not overly so.”

“And, if they don’t? The scales unable to balance while a Devil’s absent from their realm?” Yixing asks.

“Then, we banish Jongdae,” Baekhyun says slowly.

Junmyeon snorts, “You ought to banish him now. The _last_ time he visited your realm, there was a war—if I recall correctly.”

“Of which you have no memory,” Yixing and Baekhyun say in tandem. “But, yes…” Baekhyun concedes. “And it began the Consumption. Jongdae won’t play games with something like that.”

It doesn’t bode well to Kyungsoo that both Yixing _and_ Junmyeon’s brows furrow at that, an expression similar to worry passing their faces.

Baekhyun dismisses it, reaching out for the horses that remain dancing around them. The one Minseok had ridden and fallen from has already been banished, turning into flowers and vines and roots. It leaves two animals: Jongdae’s and Kyungsoo’s. “Yixing refused me an escort before,” Baekhyun says, “But, we have a common goal—and, you’re clearly not needed on the bridge for the time being, so…”

Junmyeon rolls his eyes. “Normally, I wouldn’t waste my time, but with Altimo boiling in the sea…” he trails off. “I suppose I can lend some help. It’ll give me a chance to throttle Jongdae—since he’ll have to reconvene with you at some point.”

Baekhyun tuts his tongue, but doesn’t warn Junmyeon _against_ doing so. “Yixing?”

“You’re _so_ useless,” he groans. “I hate Zu’a.” But, he’s pulling himself back into his saddle and riding closer. “Hate the imbalance more, though,” he grumbles. At a closer look, he’s handsome—severely so, with angular features and perfect skin—and horned with deep red or black ram’s horns. He also looks _fatigued_ , deeply, with lines beneath his eyes darkening his expression. “You have to wait for the Zenith for the gate to open, right?”

Baekhyun nods. _Tomorrow night_ , Kyungsoo thinks, counting the nights he’s already spent in Hell.

“Best get to Zu’a quickly, then. If the Zenith starts before they’re safe in your palace… it’ll be a feast at the gates.” With that warning, Junmyeon offers Kyungsoo a hand and helps him onto the empty-saddled horse right next to him. He glances at Kyungsoo’s leg with something akin to curiosity, but never questions it.

Still, as they begin on their way to Zu’a, this time with Yixing and Junmyeon both helping guard… Kyungsoo can’t help but feel a sense of worry. As though things _won’t_ be going as Baekhyun plans them too. Minseok seems to share his concerns, face unnervingly stoic, perhaps slightly unnerved, as they ride towards the smoke in the distance.

***

Jongdae rejoins them just outside of Zu’a, at which point Baekhyun bares his teeth at Junmyeon, and helps his counterpart onto a horse with him. Together, Kyungsoo’s struck again by how similar, and how different, they are. Junmyeon, though bristling, _doesn’t_ attack Jongdae, but, as soon as they’re through the gate at Zu’a—he peels away with Yixing, disappearing into the city throng.

Without their overbearing animosity, Kyungsoo gets the chance to _actually_ look around and take in the city. Zu’a is a city of canals—clean and teeming with fish (unlike those Kyungsoo’s witnessed in Sengise)—and draping, ornately _organic_ architecture. Vines hang from bridges, filled with birds and other creatures that Kyungsoo can hardly imagine, let alone name. Lines of flags and other colorful creations hang between homes built of stone, wood, and dirt.

Flowers grow in the cracks of the cobble roads, lizards (ranging from the size of Kyungsoo’s palm to the length of his arm) run along the walls and roads. Fountains decorate the streets, bubbling up with safe, drinking water for any that thirst. It’s simply too bad Kyungsoo _can’t_ taste.

Fruit, too, hangs from garden vines and trees in abundance, even more so than there had been in the actual forests. Animals and hellions grab from any garden, eating as they please. There appears to be no market, here, Kyungsoo notices, and the hellions don’t appear to _buy_ anything. What they need, they simply have, and what they don’t, they steal from those that do. But, it appears accepted, common-place.

What was it about Eastern Hell? That it was a place unbound by laws. Kyungsoo can see it now, but he’s surprised how peaceful it is despite. It seems… relaxed, easy-going. Living within your means and not beyond, though, that greed isn’t looked down upon—is only expected to be met equally. Kill and steal, and you will be killed and stolen from.

It’s captivating.

Unnerving, too, because heads have begun to turn towards them, following his and Minseok’s passage into the city. No one _dares_ attack them, though, not with Baekhyun riding ahead of them. Though in his human form, he’s an imposing presence anyways. Next to the hellions that Baekhyun most _surely_ outranks, Kyungsoo can _feel_ the difference in power.

Jongdae is a similar anomaly, the beast of Hell staring upon him with open confusion, and then, reverent hate. The type of hatred born only from fear. Only from knowledge of someone’s power. And Jongdae preens from his place in Baekhyun’s doubled saddle, leaning up against the Devil’s chest and kissing at his jaw—an open display of affection, an open challenge. Jongdae is Baekhyun’s just as Baekhyun is Jongdae’s.

To challenge one is to challenge the other.

Baekhyun’s palace rises up in the distance—made of wood and marble and stone—with great glass windows and terraces of gardens and waterfalls. When they near it, Kyungsoo sees at its base, there is a gleaming pool of lilac water, with great obsidian pillars and a multitude of flora and fauna creeping along its stone frame.“Is that the Gate?” He asks curiously, watching as the water ripples _towards_ Baekhyun, as though wanting to caress him.

“It’s one of them. Though this one is more for show,” Baekhyun explains. “There’s a smaller one inside the Palace. That’s the one you’ll be going through.”

They continue through the Palace gates, which is when the beasts of Hell actually being to greet Baekhyun. Some look human, others do not. Some straddle the image of something recognizable, and something not—giving Kyungsoo the feeling distinctly what he imagines is a stroke when he looks at them.

The horses are left in the gardens in front of the Palace doors, leaving them to progress on foot. Inside the Palace, Kyungsoo’s surprised to see that it’s actually just as natural as had been outside it. Plants grow freely up the walls, curl around lanterns, hang from ceilings. Flowers bloom in the windows. Deer lay in the shade of a buttress, guarded by gargoyles and other stone golems.

“Fancy seeing you again,” Baekhyun says, pulling Kyungsoo’s attention back to him. He’s not talking to Kyungsoo, though, but rather, Irene and Seulgi—both of whom sit in what looks like a lounge. Seulgi sits with a book in hand, Irene sharpens a blade. There are three other women there with them, as well. “And this time with your sisters,” Baekhyun continues, greeting them by name. There’s Sooyoung, Yerim, and Seungwan.

“I see you still have your humans?” Irene muses.

“I did say I was on my way to Zu’a to get _rid_ of them,” Baekhyun says lightly, continuing into the palace. “Have to say we got caught up a few times. Almost didn’t make it in time. You clearly didn’t have the same troubles.”

“No,” Irene says, resuming her attention on her knife. “You’re going to make good on your promise, no?”

“Of course, a feast for your courts. Do you want me to conjure the beasts outside of Zu’a, or outside of your towns?”

“Zu’a will do,” Sooyoung says pleasantly. “Will your lover offer anything?”

“I’ll set lose the whispers,” Jongdae mutters, lip curling. “But, that’s all.”

Baekhyun hums and waves the girls goodbye, but he also quickens his pace, leading Jongdae, Kyungsoo, and Minseok deeper into the Palace, and _up._

It turns out that his chambers lie at the peak of the building, at the highest terrace. And outside, on that balcony-like pavilion, there’s a pool of water. When Kyungsoo walks out to regard it, he sees that it has no bottom, the water suspended in a thin sheet above open air. He feels the hair on the back of his neck rise. _This_ is the gate. It looks like suicide.

“When the gate opens, it’ll reflect the overworld. When you fall through it, you will come up in the Tonimo River, at the mouth of it,” Baekhyun explains, sitting himself at one of the tables and popping a fruit into his mouth. Kyungsoo hums, and tries to hide how hungry he is. Tries not to fold to the temptation that is eating one of the fruits.

Jongdae throws himself onto the bed in the room. It’s a mattress fashioned on the floor, piled high with blankets and furs and pillows. It looks far more comfortable than anything Kyungsoo’s ever slept in before, and, the sight of it reminds him of how he’s yet to sleep. Hasn’t slept in a couple of days, actually.

“You can join him,” Baekhyun offers. “He won’t bite.”

Jongdae hums, and buries himself beneath the blankets and furs.

“I thought you two couldn’t sleep.”

“We can rest,” Baekhyun says, tipping his head.

Minseok glances at the devil in the bed, warily, but, he’s the first to crawl onto the mattress with him. He keeps his distance though, getting comfortable on the complete opposite side of the bed. He leaves a space for Kyungsoo to join him, though, patting it in offering.

Kyungsoo’s grateful, still unnerved by Jongdae’s closeness, but his need to sleep winning out.

And when Minseok’s skin presses against his own, he doesn’t question it, nor does he move away.

Then, hours later, when Kyungsoo wakes with bleary eyes, it's to Minseok’s arm draped over his shoulders, his face pressed into the small of Kyungsoo’s back. It’s not uncomfortable, far from it, but it’s surprising—a little embarrassing, though, not entirely, so. Really it depends on Minseok’s reaction, when he wakes.

The rest of the bed is empty, though, Kyungsoo can hear soft voices, and when he turns his head and gazes out onto the terrace, he’s able to _see_ too. Jongdae sits on one of the sills leading out onto the terrace, such that his side profile is all Kyungsoo can make out against the silhouette of the moon. Baekhyun faces Kyungsoo, but his attention isn’t on the bed, but on the Devil in the balcony.

He’s got a grip on Jongdae’s thigh, gentle, but firm, and his other hand braces him against the open-air sill. His face is canted upwards, whispering to Jongdae, laughing with him. One of Jongdae’s hands lies in his lap, relaxed, but the other is draped over Baekhyun’s shoulder, and cards into the hair at the back of his head.

It’s affection, the honeymoon type, where they are hopelessly captivated by one another.

Kyungsoo’s captivated too, though that’s not what surprises him—after all, it’s quite obvious how attractive, on a purely physical level, both demons are. What surprises him, instead, is a dull pulse of _jealousy_.

Minseok stirs next to him, his arm tightening around Kyungsoo before he freezes and sits up. Kyungsoo glances at him, but hopes his expression doesn’t convey any malice. What happens in the throes of sleep, happens. Even if Minseok and he are meant to be… enemies.

It sounds harsh to call him that, now, though. When he’s saved Minseok’s life and Minseok’s done the same for him.

He returns his gaze to the Devils, blood heating when he sees that _they’ve_ turned to look at Minseok and him. Baekhyun’s expression softens, not quite _loving_ , but affectionate. He’s taken to adopting that face around Kyungsoo more and more often, seemingly charmed.

Jongdae’s face splits into a sly grin, and then, he’s looking away. The hand in Baekhyun’s hair tightens it’s grip, and he guides Baekhyun’s mouth to his neck. Sighing and letting his head fall back against the frame of the window.

Kyungsoo’s breath hitches.

The air’s _thick_ with that heady tension of desire, but also that sharp, electrifying wariness. For Jongdae’s not gentle, not trustworthy, even if Kyungsoo’s grown to understand Baekhyun.

“Do you envy me?” Jongdae asks, voice a sigh, mellow and relaxed. He’s _pleased_ with Baekhyun, breathing stuttering when Baekhyun’s lips trail down to his chest and he bites a perky nipple.

Kyungsoo wants to say that he does. He _does_. But, it’s Minseok’s presence at his back that stops him, makes him wary of the judgment that comes with admitting such a thing.

“Can he not?” Minseok asks, voice low. The sound of it has Kyungsoo’s eyes widening in surprise. “Who wouldn’t envy you?” Minseok continues, and now, one of his hands slides under the fabric of Kyungsoo’s shirt, up his waist and settling hot on his shoulder. He waits then, for Kyungsoo to shake him off.

Kyungsoo merely shifts back into his embrace.

Baekhyun releases Jongdae’s nipple to turn to them, “Where’s your fear? Your restraint?”

“The hunger’s stronger,” Kyungsoo murmurs, reaching back to put a hand on Minseok’s thigh, massaging the muscle comfortably. “We’re all starved for it.”

“For what?” Baekhyun breathes, cocking his head. Jongdae ducks down to nip at his ear and he lets out a breathy sigh.

“Devotion,” Minseok murmurs, holding Baekhyun’s gaze. “Isn’t that all we want? Something or someone to devote ourselves to. Someone who is devoted to us?”

He laughs, low, disbelieving, and then, gently, nudges Jongdae away. “Don’t let Hell get to you,” he warns, and with his warning, the heady temptation seems to lessen; the fog over their heads seems to clear. It isn’t as though they’re spelled, but… perhaps Baekhyun’s right. It’s not the time.

Not right now, at least, and probably will never be _quite_ right in the future. But…

Kyungsoo feels Minseok’s hand slide out from under his clothes, and then, feels the bed sink more as he lays back down, this time, unabashedly close to Kyungsoo, _actively_ seeking his warmth.

“Go to sleep, again,” Baekhyun coaxes, his voice already sounding far away. “Tomorrow, the Zenith will rise.”

***

Kyungsoo wakes the next morning alone. Minseok’s stood on the part of the terrace upon which a waterfall runs down from the roof, washing himself beneath the stream, soap and other suds clinging to his body, his hair. Baekhyun is nowhere to be seen, but Jongdae is still here, sunning on a patch of grass growing on the balcony.

The air feels charged, even now, as though, were he to light a match, it would cause a firestorm.

It doesn’t make him feel uneasy, though.

“Where’s Baekhyun?” He calls out, finally rousing himself from the bed. His leg aches, sore from his injury and from his extended sleep, as he walks out onto the terrace and into the cool-tone sunlight.

“He’s handling preparations,” Jongdae yawns. “The focal courts require a great deal to feed. Baekhyun has to create of himself in order to do so.”

“What do you mean ‘create of himself?’ Aren’t you the creator god?” Minseok asks, moving over to offer Kyungsoo a place under the stream of water. Kyungsoo nods in acknowledgement and begins stripping off his clothes. He’ll have to wash them, if he can, and hang them out to dry while the sun’s still hot.

Jongdae rolls over and props his head up on his hand. “Traditionally, we create from one another. I could not craft the bones of creation without… flesh. Kabé is the foundation of your world—it’s why _he_ is the one to consume it at the end of time. It’s why he is Death personified. He’s merely taking back what was his.” Jongdae continues, “I can create the arcane. Things of consciousness without body. False memories, phantoms, sprites, and the fae. Baekhyun can create body without wit—puppets, game, and golems.”

Kyungsoo steps under the stream of water, sighing at the heat of it. As many things in Hell are, it appears the water’s opposite of the overworld—warm rather than cold.

“Anyways, what I’m saying is he’s creating game for the courts, right now. The Zenith is when he is most powerful, so this is the best time to do so. He’ll replenish his energy quickly.”

“Is the Zenith when you are powerful as well?” Kyungsoo asks, catching the shift in Jongdae’s tone.

“I can taste it,” Jongdae says, “but it’s choking me. Baekhyun’s zenith is my nadir, and is opposite when the summer solstice comes around.

Minseok’s hands hover over Kyungsoo’s shoulders; with a nod, Kyungsoo allows them to come down and help scrub away the purplish Hell dirt that clings to his skin. “So you’re weak today?”

“As weak as a god can be,” Jongdae mutters. “Baekhyun’s court is strongest today, which is why I’ve decided to stay indoors. Junmyeon could banish me quite easily from this side of the Midemo. Yixing would have to work a little harder.”

“The books only spoke of two gods,” Minseok reveals. “What is Junmyeon?”

Jongdae raises a brow, “He is a god. Shaja, the Rabbit God. I challenged his loyalty to Baekhyun and allowed him to leave Hell on certain conditions. Baekhyun deified him.”

“Are there any others, then?” Kyungsoo asks.

“Sehun, or rather Ivíte, the Bird God, whom I deified.” Jongdae trails off then, seemingly done explaining, until, quieter, he says, “We don’t often choose to create deities. It’s a privilege reserved for those who embody our core. Junmyeon expressed devotion, and Sehun expressed responsibility.”

Minseok helps Kyungsoo rinse, and then, walks to where a pair of towels await, tossing one to Kyungsoo. Both of them pat themselves dry and then, take their clothes, washing them out under the stream and hanging them on the terrace rails. Then, while those dry, they sit. Jongdae’s lapsed back into quiet, but the same can’t be said for Minseok.

“I was thinking we may have met before,” he mumbles. “Not really ‘met’ I suppose, but acquainted, very briefly. It’s—well—I just noticed your scar. While we showered,” he says. Kyungsoo’s so unfamiliar with his own body (he isn’t one for vanity, and he’s been in more fights, more battles than he can count) that it takes him a moment to reason out _what_ scar Minseok could be referring to.

Kyungsoo blinks. “Which one?” He asks, figuring it’s better to cut to the chase.

Minseok’s hand immediately traces a curved crescent out on his back. From his lower ribcage to the center of his spine. And honestly, Kyungsoo had removed that experience from his memory, had done all he could not to dwell on it. With the attention, though, it all comes rushing back. “I don’t see how you could have recognized—“

“It was your Midfall Dinner some decade or so ago. Oslin had sent a convoy to share in the celebrations, as a gesture of good faith. It was right before I ascended to the Throne and began the war,” Minseok says quickly. His words hang in the air. “You took a blade for your King. I never saw your face, but I saw it happen.”

Kyungsoo doesn’t look at him. Can’t look at him.

But, he remembers it quite clearly now. It had been a sickle that plunged into Kyungsoo’s back. He’d shielded the King with his own body, back when he still believed in the ruler. It makes sense that Minseok would have been there. The Oslini King never would have traveled so far from his Keep, when tensions were so high. But the Crown Prince? Far more likely.

“You know that’s what got my brother killed. My mother too,” he says calmly. “Seungsoo came too close to losing his baby brother, and my mother almost lost her youngest. It rattled their faith in our King.”

Minseok doesn’t interrupt.

Kyungsoo continues, “They were executed for treason after having their letters intercepted.” Kyungsoo takes a shaky breath, “I hope you’ll forgive me if I _don’t_ want to remember that day.”

“If I had known you became King, I wouldn’t have waged war on you.” Minseok says, and for a moment, it’s hard for Kyungsoo to find the correlation. “I kept remembering that moment. Some knight just stepping in to protect their King, who then turned around a begged for your attacker, for a traitor, to be forgiven for their actions.”

Silence.

“There’s always a reason for people to act in extremes,” Kyungsoo says. “It’s better to listen than to lash out.”

“Laws are laws,” Jongdae says, from where he sits. “Protection comes hand in hand with order. You cannot live a safe, peaceful life without order. Those that challenge the sanctity of your laws must be dealt with, lest they invigorate the instinct of millions and throw us back into chaos.”

Kyungsoo shakes his head, “That man lashed out because he had no protection, no safety, no order to his life. Do we execute those that the system fails?” No one argues with him, though Jongdae looks away. “You are the God of Order, of Obligation, of Ambition. Surely, you can recognize when a law becomes void, when it fails to serve the best interests of the people.”

“Treason is not a law that becomes void,” Jongdae replies sharply.

“But it _is_ ,” Kyungsoo says, with feeling. “I am a traitor to my King. My family was traitor to the King. Countless citizens were traitor to the King. Because he was _cruel_ , because he failed to do his part towards us. In that time, treason becomes revolution.”

“Revolution is needless bloodshed,” Minseok says softly. “It’s a mercy to nip it in the bud.”

Kyungsoo shakes his head. “No. Revolution is to tear down order that has become disorder and build it back up stronger, and more selfless.” He glances at Minseok, “If you’re going to remember the moment I protected my King, and respect that moment, you ought to respect the moment I chose to run him through with my sword, as well.”

“Y’all are getting testy,” comes a new voice. Baekhyun. “Order means nothing without willingness to adapt, just as revolution means nothing without commitment to order,” he says, walking to take a seat next to Jongdae. He looks tired, though the fatigue of his limbs doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s all about _balance_ ,” he continues. “Utopia means nothing to humans. You have to have the good and the bad, the orderly and the disorderly, the static and the dynamo.”

“Perhaps,” Both Minseok and Kyungsoo say, not quite committing to his explanation, nor backing down from their personal values. But, Baekhyun’s arrival does ease things out, smooth things over, and he’s quick to move on from it.

“The gate will open at midnight,” he explains. “I don’t know how long ago you woke up, or if you’re still tired—I imagine you would be if only because it’s been a while since you ate—but you have plenty of downtime, yet.” He leans back into Jongdae’s chest, nuzzling his nose into his jaw, playfully, affectionately. “I don’t want you two roaming the city when everyone’s so amped, but, if you’d like to explore the palace, you should be able to do so safely.”

“Keyword ‘should’,” Minseok mutters, but he stands up. “Do you have clothes we can borrow?”

“Demons hardly care whether you’re—“

Kyungsoo raises a brow, “Humans do. Do you have clothes or not?”

Baekhyun rolls his eyes and points into the bedroom. “There’s a wardrobe of my silks, satins, velvets, and cottons. Take whatever is your choosing, but come back here so I can make sure you’re wearing it _properly_.”

They both walk to the wardrobe and begin pulling out different outfits. Most are full-length robes, with heavy exterior patterning, expensive, trimmed sleeves, and collars of gilded materials. Kyungsoo’s drawn immediately to a red robe, the same color as Hell’s moon, of which the trim is a neat, heavy, _real_ gold. The fabric itself is of silk, and, lying beneath where it had been hanged in the closet are… accents to match it.

Jewelry—thick gold bands and collars, rings and bracelets—as well as a pair of sandals, gladiatorial, with thin straps and thin soles.

Kyungsoo dresses himself, but forgoes the jewelry, not wanting to overstep Baekhyun’s generosity and wear what’ll read as disrespect.

Hands fall onto his shoulder’s, squeezing through the fabrics. “You can’t go out like that,” Baekhyun says, and Kyungsoo’s effort not to take the jewelry turns out to mean nothing as Baekhyun cinches the necklaces around his throat, slides the rings over his fingers. He motions for Minseok, who wears a teal robe with bronze accents, to do the same, and he does, fastening the jewelry on his body.

Baekhyun hums, has Kyungsoo spin slowly for effect, and then, nods. “Now you’re ready. Have fun exploring. Remember, don’t go outside. You’ll get eaten.”

With that, they leave.


	4. Chapter 4

Minseok’s quiet as they walk from Baekhyun’s bedroom floor down into the different sectors of the palace, until he says, “I didn’t mean to rile everyone up. Or, bring up bad memories.”

“You’re forgiven,” Kyungsoo says, “Don’t worry about it. Come midnight, we go back to being enemies, do we not?”

Minseok hums, “I suppose. Though, in the absence of their kings, our nations likely both retreated. There is probably an armistice, if only temporary. Upon our return to power—“

“If such a thing is even guaranteed,” Kyungsoo interrupts.

Minseok continues, never faltering, ”—we could make that armistice a permanent truce.”

“Your nation will never set up camp south of the river again,” Kyungsoo says bluntly. “I’ll never give it another chance to succumb to greed and endanger _my_ people’s livelihoods.”

“I need to feed _my_ people, too,” Minseok says sharply.

“Then you make allies and you trade. You do _not_ slaughter my people, burn my villages, and reap what my land has sown,” Kyungsoo continues. “If you want peace, then you’ll need to compromise. For Baekhyun is still under my pact, and when I return, if you wish to wage a war on terms I don’t agree with, I can assure you that I will set him loose and I will win.” He levels Minseok with a gaze. “I understand, as a prince, you’re used to getting what you want. As a King, you’re used to being on top. To being revered and feared. I am a King as well, but I grew up a soldier, and you’ll not see me grovel.”

A smooth, romantic voice cuts off anything Minseok had been about to say. “No wonder Baekhyun sees something in you.”

Both of them look up, their gaits slowing to a stop. Sat on a bench surrounding a fountain, with a silver platter chock full of food laid out in front of him, is Junmyeon. _Shaja_ , as Kyungsoo remembers Jongdae saying. The human deified by Baekhyun.

Junmyeon continues, “You’re so loyal. It’s actually quite admirable.” And then, his gaze flicks to Minseok, almost searching. “I think _you_ are more similar to Jongdae than _he_ would like you to believe, as well.”

Minseok raises his chin and looks away, annoyed at the prospect of being similar to the cruel, musical god.

“What are you doing here?” Kyungsoo wonders aloud. “You didn’t come in with us yesterday, so I assumed you weren’t welcome.”

Junmyeon arches a brow, and motions for him to sit. He doesn’t extend the same invitation to Minseok—who, after regarding them coldly for a few seconds, moves on, disappearing further into the palace. Kyungsoo’s wary to see him go, despite their arguments. They’ve been bound together here in Hell for the shared purpose of getting _out_. “I’m welcome in Baekhyun’s palace anytime,” Junmyeon says, dipping a piece of flatbread through some sort of hummus or sauce. “It’s part of being his favorite.”

“Jongdae’s his favorite,” Kyungsoo says, without hesitation.

Junmyeon shrugs, “It’s different. He didn’t choose Jongdae. They were simply… made for one another. Two sides of the same coin.” He brings his gaze up to Kyungsoo, grinning, “But, he _did_ choose _us_.”

“How did you meet him?” Kyungsoo asks, ignoring Junmyeon’s suggestion. “How did he choose you?”

“I was one of his priests, and, back then—perhaps even now—it was common for Kabé to take to the overworld in a human skin. We met, but I didn’t recognize him as my god,” Junmyeon relates. “We would later intend to marry, but, the Zenith Celebration was approaching. In the overworld, you perform a pilgrimage to Kabé’s shrines in order to celebrate the holiday.” He pauses, reminiscing on the memory. “I was killed by a thief while traveling, and when I came to Hell, I woke in Dívo’s realm.”

That, admittedly, surprised Kyungsoo. He expects that a priest of one god would wake up in that god’s realm. But, perhaps it really does come down to the manner in which someone lives. After all, Junmyeon _seems_ like the type that Jongdae would host: full of obligation, of a sense of duty and respect.

“I asked Dívo for the chance to say goodbye,” Junmyeon continued, “But, he wouldn’t allow it. So, I begged again, and he compromised. He would send out my spirit as that of a rabbit, and my path would cross with Kabé’s while he hunted. If I allowed his arrow to kill me over, then, I’d die, for good, with the knowledge that I fed him with my last breath. But if I survived him, I would become human and live again.”

Kyungsoo blinks. “So, he recognized you and saved you?”

“No, he didn’t recognize me until he’d spilled my blood,” Junmyeon murmurs. “It made him so angry, the trick that had been pulled, that he cast the rabbit into the sky. And so, I became the god of the moon.” He grins and holds out his hands. The new moon, shadowed, but silver sits in one, and the full moon, deep red, sits in the other. “And the tides, of shamans, and all manner of game that runs the earth.”

“Do you know of Ivíte, and how he became—“

“He’s from the Far South beyond your marshes and across the sea,” Junmyeon says with a nod. “A prince who chose duty over love and became King. It made him miserable though. He took on too much responsibility, too young, and his Court was full of snakes.” Junmyeon combs his memory for more. “He didn’t last long on the Throne. Practically wilted on it, it grieved him so much. Jongdae made him a god because he respected how Sehun had risen up to his birthright, despite hating it. To become a god is to not only embody the values of a god, but it is also to earn their affection, their emotion. It’s to make a god feel human, if only for a short while.”

Kyungsoo stews on that, sat on the bench across from Junmyeon, listening to the trickling of the fountain. “You don’t like Jongdae much, is it because of the trick he played on you?” Kyungsoo ends up asking.

Junmyeon shakes his head, “I like Jongdae a lot, during specific times. The world moves in a cyclical manner. The _gods_ move in the same way. Jongdae can be positive order, just as Baekhyun can be positive chaos. But—“

“Both of them have times where they devolve and become a negative aspect of their values,” Kyungsoo fills in, remembering exactly what Baekhyun had explained earlier.

“Baekhyun’s less prone to large shifts. Both his aspects are very present either in Hell or in the Overworld. I mean, right now, your world is at war. Hell is not, but Baekhyun still gives his realm the freedom to present his nature—they have that wildness, that choice, that free-will. But, Jongdae… his realm is orderly, and, even in times of war, the _overworld_ runs in an orderly way. It is civilized.”

“So, there is no realm for his negative aspect?” Kyungsoo asks.

“His negative aspect is _rising_ ,” Junmyeon explains instead. “He grows so unused to disorder that he forgets what order is meant to be. And, in his arrogance, he begins to think that… perhaps, he can fix the world. He sees natural chaos as a scourge that _must_ be fixed.”

“How long does it take for him to start to think like that?” Kyungsoo eyes Junmyeon warily, catching his tone, catching _his_ concern. There’s something important to what he’s revealing—this is a warning.

Junmyeon shrugs, “It’s only happened once before.” He doesn’t expand, but, the implication is strong. It takes a _long_ while for the gods to reach a point such as this in the cycle. “What you have to understand is that, Baekhyun—when he reaches a breaking point—is natural extinction. He is the bones of animals you’ve never known, unearthed from bogs and mountains. He is the forests long turned to stone.” Junmyeon takes a sip of his wine, and stands, their conversation coming to an end. “Jongdae is divine extinction. He is the flood that clears the earth. He is the fire that eats away the sky. He is creation started over.”

With that, Junmyeon waves, and _leaves_.

Kyungsoo eyes the food he’s left behind, but doesn’t reach out for it, Baekhyun’s warning still at the forefront of his mind. But now, with Junmyeon’s…

He feels a headache coming on. Like there’s something obvious at hand and he just _can’t_ see it, too unfamiliar with Hell, with the Devils, to make the necessary connections.

He hears footsteps and looks up. It’s Minseok, returning his way. “The sun’s going down, now,” he explains. “And Yixing was starting to sound like he was planning to cannibalize me.”

Kyungsoo’s lip curls, “Gross,” but remembers the feeling of Baekhyun’s heart in his hand even as he says it. “Are you ready to go back home?”

“No,” Minseok said, but then, he shrugs. “I mean, I am. Obviously, I want to go home. I just feel as though…” He trails off. “I just have some things to think about,” he settles on saying. “I’m not sure the reception will go over well, either, when it’s learned that I’ve had to drag myself out of Hell.”

Kyungsoo hums, “I hope my reception will be good. If Chanyeol ended up in power, as he should have been able too… I think I’ll be fine. If not, then I suppose I am also going home to a realm of chaos.”

Minseok nods, lets their words hang in the air, and then, he jerks his head towards the stairs. “Do you want to go back to the Gate? Or, should we stay here.” Kyungsoo could tell him to go by himself, that his return doesn’t depend on Kyungsoo’s as well. But, he understands not wanting to be alone with the Devils, especially since Minseok hasn’t _quite_ endeared himself to either of them—even if Baekhyun’s stopped trying to get him killed.

“Which would you prefer?” Kyungsoo asks.

Minseok shakes his head. “I don’t know. Part of me wants to be prepared for when it opens, even though we still have a few hours yet, but another part of me wants to… sit and relax, without worrying about their trickery, their tests, their temptations.”

Kyungsoo’s mind flits to last night, when Minseok’s hands had run up his side, when Baekhyun and Jongdae had kissed on the terrace. He blushes faintly with the reminder of the desire, the heat, he’d been unable to avoid that night. Hell, the excitement is still there. The idea that something could have happened here in Hell that didn’t have to carry over into the overworld.

“Let’s go upstairs. Rest. Baekhyun said the gate opens up in the marshes, and it’s difficult to shelter there, given the predators and the water, and whatnot. We may not sleep for a while once we reach the overworld.”

So, they both return upstairs. Baekhyun and Jongdae are nowhere to be seen—not even on the terrace—which is nice, allowing for both he and Minseok to disrobe and put their normal clothes back on, crawl into the bed, and fall asleep easily.

***

Kyungsoo doesn’t sleep long, though, not when he’d slept in until the late afternoon anyways.

Jongdae’s sitting inside, draped over a chair, goblet of wine in hand, his gaze dark, lazy, and tired. It flicks over to Kyungsoo when he notices him wake, but then, returns to the ceiling as he rolls his head back and resumes whatever mindless thoughts he’d had prior to the distraction.

Baekhyun’s outside, stood looking out over the railing, bathed in the red light of the moon.

His presence is unmistakeable, thick, powerful, and heady. This is _his_ Zenith. The time in which he’s most powerful. Kyungsoo really _can’t_ resist leaving the bed and walking to where he stands. “How long should I wait before I call on you?” Kyungsoo asks, referencing the pact. “If I need to call on you in the first place, that is?”

“The Zenith will last a month in your time. By the time you find your way out of the marshes, you’ll only have to wait a week,” Baekhyun says calmly, and when he turns, he’s wearing a gentle smile. “But, if you call before then, I’m sure I can make the time. I _did_ promise my devotion. My subservience,” he mumbles. He nods back towards his kingdom, to Zu’a, lit with lanterns, with fireworks, with magic.

Kyungsoo puts his palms on the stone railing and looks out, his arm brushing Baekhyun’s, the two of them so close. “What will passing through the gate be like,” he asks, voice merely a whisper.

“It’ll… not hurt. But, it’ll wear on you. My own demons cannot even pass through the gate normally, it tears them apart. They haven’t the energy to withstand it. But it’ll only fatigue you, much like how you had passed through it the first time, coming here to Hell.”

“I see,” Kyungsoo says. “How are your celebrations going?” He then asks, nodding down at the festival below. “Have they started?”

“For my courts, yes, but I won’t take part until midnight, when the Zenith actually rises,” Baekhyun explains. His hand finds Kyungsoo’s, plays with his fingers. “Though, if I’m being completely honest… the Zenith worries me each year. It’s… too wild.”

“Too wild?” Kyungsoo arches a brow, turns his hand over so that he can link his fingers with Baekhyun’s. “Aren’t you the god of wildness.”

“I’m also the god of choice,” Baekhyun murmurs, “and when instinct consumes you, robs you of your choice…” he trails off. Kyungsoo doesn’t ask, knows that if Baekhyun intends to tell him—he will.

Admittedly, he _is_ somewhat disappointed when Baekhyun never _does_ continue his thought.

“The gate’s opening in a little less than an hour,” Baekhyun says. And, as if he reads Kyungsoo’s mind, he explains, “Time moves more quickly here. The hours you thought you had aren’t so. We need to start preparing. Come on.”

He pulls away and walks inside to rouse Minseok. Kyungsoo stays by the pool of water, looking through it. Indeed, the reflection’s begun to change, to become something not of _this_ world, but of _his_ world. Even as he watches, it becomes more and more _real_ , changing rapidly as each minute passes by.

Baekhyun returns outside, waving his hand across the terrace. Around them, candles flicker to flame, lanterns light, and the garden seems to turn inwards with curiosity. He has gifts in hand, and motions for both Minseok (whose eyes are still heavy with sleep) and Kyungsoo to come sit at the edge of the pool. There, he unwraps the cloth presents he’s brought them.

Two knives of bone, with handles of the muted, blueish wood common in Eastern Hell’s forests. Baekhyun explains that it’s to help them in the overworld, to hunt. That, once they’ve returned to their realms, that the bones will shatter and return to the earth, and to use them while they are good.

His second gift is a pair of necklaces and rings. Minseok’s bear the emblem of a cat, while Kyungsoo’s bear the hound. “Jongdae’s leaving you these,” Baekhyun says of the cat-emblemed rings. “You’ve earned his respect to… some degree, it seems.”

Minseok’s hand closes over the jewelry, and then, after a moment of deliberation, he puts both on.

Baekhyun puts on Kyungsoo’s jewelry for him. It feels hot against Kyungsoo’s skin, as though it were alive, pulsing like a heartbeat. His fingers linger on Kyungsoo’s skin, like a caress, deeply affectionate despite the circumstances. Just as quickly, though, he pulls back and motions to the pool.

“Kyungsoo will attempt to pass through first,” Baekhyun says.

Minseok’s gaze flicks to him, eyes wide. “Why can’t we go at the same time, the pool is big enough—“

“Because if something goes wrong, it’s better you’re not both caught up in it,” Baekhyun says, his voice brooking no argument. Minseok holds his stare, and then, aquiesces, his shoulders falling.

“Why not allow Minseok through first?” Jongdae wonders, walking out onto the terrace with them. He comes to stand behind Baekhyun, nails scraping lightly over his neck and shoulders.

“Is there a problem?” Baekhyun wonders aloud, daring Jongdae to say that there _is_. There’s no reason for either of them to go first. It shouldn’t mean anything. But, Baekhyun’s stubborn, and he’s not going to have Jongdae goad him into changing his mind—even if it seemingly means nothing.

“Of course not,” Jongdae murmurs, also backing down. “Don’t get in a tizzy,” he teases.

As he finishes speaking, the pool ripples, and the reflection becomes visible. Ice coats the marsh water in a thin sheet. Kyungsoo’s reminded that the Zenith celebrations begin on the Winter Solstice. So much time has already passed since he was last in the overworld, even though he’s only been in Hell for a short time.

They all stand, Baekhyun walking around the edge of the pool to stand opposite Kyungsoo. Jongdae follows him, remaining behind him, like a shadow.

Something’s… off.

“Step inside the pool?” Baekhyun coaxes. “If all is well, you’ll fall through to the otherside. Try not to panic.”

Kyungsoo steps into the water. It’s shallow enough only to come up to his ankles, as frigid as the water on the otherside of it must be, and yet, he doesn’t fall through.

He stands there, suspended as though on glass.

His gaze flicks up to Baekhyun’s only to see Jongdae holding his hands in a bruising grip behind his back. He takes one of his nails, and in front of both Kyungsoo and Minseok, cuts into Baekhyun’s throat. Lets the blood fall into the pool.

Kyungsoo’s heart fills with dread, but before he can step out of the pool, magic as searing as a knife is rushing towards him. He dodges, avoids the bolt from running straight through his heart, but, it still glances across his bicep, tearing open his sleeve and spilling blood down his arm.

A drop hits the pool, and that’s when Kyungsoo truly gasps and puts together all he’s been told, all he’s observed.

Baekhyun falls forward into the pool, less of a human, more of a mass of energy. And beyond him, the moon seems to gape, the Midemo rises up in a great wave, and Eastern Hell begins to flood with blood.

Minseok takes a hold of Kyungsoo’s arm and drags him out of the pool. “Run!” He yells aloud. Kyungsoo doesn’t even think twice, immediately following him, his wet feet slipping on the floor, but his desire to get away from the scene at the pool so much greater. The necklace around his neck and the rings on his fingers have only grown hotter since his and Baekhyun’s blood fell into the water. It pulses _deep_ , _strong_ , and _wild_ —fluttering against his chest.

They reach the staircase, practically falling down the stairs as they rush their way down. They pass level after level, and, just before the last level, Kyungsoo crashes into someone.

Yixing shoves him back, a snarl on his lips, and then, stops, confused. “What?” He gasps.

“Jongdae spilled our blood,” Kyungsoo gasps. “We’re pacted. We renewed our pact. He spilled our blood.”

Yixing’s eyes widen as he realizes the same thing Kyungsoo already has.

 _Sacred blood feeds the Zenith._ A pact is as important a bond as a marriage. It _is_ a marriage, in some ways. It’s a promise, a devotion until both sides of it is properly completed.

“Run,” Yixing says, stepping past them. He takes off at a run again, leaping up the stairs. Kyungsoo and Minseok only hesitate a moment before they continue on their way. But, once they’re outside… what do they do then? It is the night of the Zenith. Baekhyun’s already warned them about what could happen if they go outside while Hell is crazed like this.

They don’t really have a choice, now, do they.

Kyungsoo grips the knife he’d been gifted just a little more tightly as they crash outside the palace doors and continue running. As they run, he chances a glance up. Out on the terrace balcony, lightning crashes from the sky, but there is never the shaking of it actually hitting a target. If anything, it’s abnormally quiet. Forebodingly so.

Shadows seem to race up the side of the palace, hungry mouths gaping, shadowed claws outstretched.

As Kyungsoo watches, Jongdae crashes against the railing of the terrace, hands sparkling with lightning, but wrists forced down by Baekhyun’s hands. Baekhyun who looks more like a monster than anything else, his body becoming that of a real god, tall, monstrous, a _nightmare_.

The railings to Jongdae’s back crack, and then, crumble, falling to the earth. And Jongdae plummets with them, lightning spiralling all around him. “He can’t control him,” Kyungsoo gasps, “I think he tried and just realized he _can’t_.”

“Then we’re all going to die,” Minseok snaps.

“Pretty sure that was the point from the very beginning,” Kyungsoo replies, bile in his throat. “But if Jongdae’s plan already isn’t going according to what he _thought_ it would…”

He doesn’t finish his thought, his mind absolutely swirling with possibilities. It could mean that there’s still a chance to _reverse_ this, perhaps, but it could also mean that there isn’t. That _nothing_ is powerful enough to stop what Jongdae’s started. “Where are we even running to?” He wonders aloud, brain blanking.

Baekhyun said the Zenith would consume them, that the Midemo would become the Maw and would swallow them up. Is there any point in running? Any at all.

Hoofbeats break them from their despair, and _Junmyeon_ appears, face severe, a spear held in hand. Another horse is tied to his, saddled, but riderless. “Get up, we’re going to Ivíte. We have to beat the Midemo before it floods the bridge.”

“If the bridge isn’t already flooded,” Minseok yells.

“If it isn’t,” Junmyeon agrees, slowing his horse and letting them both jump into the second beast’s saddle. They fit easily, the animal’s back slightly longer than that of a typical horse, it’s legs stronger, bones thicker to support their weight. Junmyeon untethers them and tosses the reins over their horse’s head. Kyungsoo—since he’s sat in front—gathers them up and situates himself. “We’ll have to run all night. If we do, we should get to the bridge by morning. The spirits will begin screaming, soon. Do not stop for them.”

He tosses Minseok a spear, who catches it with his freehand. As they jump to a gallop, Minseok belts the blade Baekhyun had gifted him to his waist, and readies the spear in his hand—no doubt, he’ll _have_ to use it soon.

For hellions are already beginning to snarl and race alongside the rooves and streets next to them.

Lightning streaks across the sky again, but as before, there is no shake, no _sound_ of it striking.

Junmyeon’s gaze follows the electricity, eyebrows knit. “Bit off more than he could chew. Forgot what the last war was like.”

“The one you weren’t alive for,” Kyungsoo remembers.

“I live in the Midemo, Human. I can sense far more history than any hellion here on the dirt and earth can,” Junmyeon chides, annoyed. An imp leaps from the dark. Hardly blinking, Junmyeon spears it through and shakes it off, its body disappearing on the street behind them. “Keep your focus on the street. The Hunt’s begun. The _Consumption’s_ begun.”

Minseok shoves another hellion away from them just seconds later, prompting Kyungsoo to focus harder on weaving through the growing crowd of monsters.

Junmyeon’s horse leaps a beast, and, before Kyungsoo can prepare himself for the jump—can warn Minseok—they’re leaping too. Minseok gasps, but Kyungsoo has him by the arm, throwing himself against Minseok’s weight.

Claws crawl up Minseok’s other arm as Kyungsoo watches, scoring large gashes down his flesh.

Junmyeon snarls, magic rippling outwards, and the monster with ahold of Minseok turns to seafoam and cascades to the ground. Minseok hisses with pain as the saltwater reacts with his cut, but, he bites it back, putting his strength into righting himself on the horse once more.

Kyungsoo pulls Minseok’s arm around his waist, a wordless command to _hold_ on, and returns his attention to the road ahead, whipping the reins against the horse’s neck.

A wail rises up behind them, echoing through the city, horribly loud, like a siren rather than a scream. Minseok turns back to look, and, a moment later, when the ground shakes, nearly causing the horse to stumble, he relates what he’s seen to Kyungsoo. “The palace,” he starts, voice thin, _shocked_. “It’s fallen.”

Great stone bricks crashing to the ground, the fountains and water spouts running over ruins, a cascade of destruction. And, rising in the midst of it all, there’s a titan with skin made of sloshing blood, a crown of heavy bones and skulls, with teeth like a saw, and eyes that glow like the moon. Eyes that follow their retreat.

***

By the time they break into the outer city, they’ve leapt over countless hellions, speared and killed even more. The horses sides are panting frantically, but Junmyeon’s magic keeps them moving despite the difficulty of their journey, the impossibility of their stamina. “This way!” Junmyeon shouts, wheeling his horse into a sharp turn to the left, into an alleyway.

Kyungsoo barely follows, the action’s taken so quickly, but he manages to do so, and to see what prompted the sudden shift in trajectory.

Up ahead, Irene and Seulgi dance in the streets, massive spiders and snakes behind them, hellions all around them. “We’re reach Focal territory,” Junmyeon explains, “Baekhyun’s nobles are among their courts. We don’t want an altercation.” Still, some imp drops down from the windows above them. It lands on the back of Junmyeon’s horse, but the god wastes no time shoving it off with the butt of his spear.

Kyungsoo’s horse crushes it beneath its hooves, never losing step.

But then, Junmyeon’s throwing himself against his reins— _stopping_ his horse. Kyungsoo mirrors him, yelping, and just barely avoids crashing into him, his horse smart enough to sidestep him.

There’s a _pile_ of monsters already in the alley, snarling and biting and attacking…

An axe crashes through one of the monster’s skulls, painting the walls with blood, and tugging it out, Kyungsoo catches sight of Yixing—drenched in blood, clothes ragged, hair mussed, but Yixing nonetheless. He wears an expression of hate, of irritation, as he kicks the body off and embeds his axe into another creature.

Lightning spirals amongst the throng, and several of the monsters drop dead, twitching and turning to shards of glass, making Jongdae visible amidst the pack, lashing out with his bare hands, his nails curved into claws. He’s similarly disheveled, his hair wild, ichor running down his face from a cut at the top of his head. His throat’s torn, too, as though something’s already tried to tear it out. _Baekhyun_? Kyungsoo thinks, worry searing through him at the thought that Baekhyun could harm Jongdae—Jongdae whom he _loves_. Jongdae, whom he was _made for_.

“Where’s your horse?” Junmyeon yells.

Yixing looks up then, narrowed eyes finding theirs. “Seulgi’s ripped it apart already,” he growls, shoving an imp off of him and kicking it down.

Minseok spears an ifirit that’s gotten too close, as Junmyeon responds with, “Then get on with me, for now. Jongdae?”

Yixing nods and makes his way over to them, swinging himself up just behind Junmyeon’s saddle, twisting his hand around a rope tether attached to the leather in order to moor himself. Jongdae looks up at the mention of his name, his lips twisted in a sneer. “Helping me?”

“You’re the only one strong enough to reverse this,” Junmyeon answers. “It’s a mutual interest in survival.”

So, Jongdae’s scowl deepens and he takes to the sky as a ribbon of energy, soon becoming a bird soaring overhead. Junmyeon and Yixing both link hands and, in another wave of magic, the demons and creatures ahead of them, around them, become foam and ash, banished from this time, this realm.

They jolt back into motion, Kyungsoo directing his horse in quick pursuit of both Junmyeon _and_ Jongdae.

Another scream—roar?—rolls through the sky, the force of it enough to shatter the windows above them and rattle their eardrums.

They break back out onto the open streets, the gates up ahead of them. But, there’s something more now, too. The Midemo’s water has already begun to flood into the city. Only a thin sheen of it, but it is here nonetheless, reflecting the red of the moon, like blood on the street.

Kyungsoo stares at it with an air of despair. If the water is already reaching the city, surely the bridge must be flooded?

Yixing follows his gaze, expression softening for only a moment. “The Lower Land Bridge has a stone foundation built on top of it. We still have time—hopefully,” he yells, trying to offer Kyungsoo some sort of comfort.

An arrow whizzes right past Yixing, just barely missing. Kyungsoo ducks on reflex, given the nearness, and then, looks to the direction it’d come from. Irene, with a gaze as sharp as knives, and an aim nearly as deadly.

She misses her second shot, probably _only_ due to the fact that they’re traveling at such a high speed, and, because of the chaos all around them.

She does not miss her third.

Kyungsoo gasps, feeling the arrow pierce his flesh. It runs through his back, just beneath his right shoulder blade. And it hurts enough to have him dropping that arm from the reins and cradling it to his side, in such a way that each beat of the horse’s hooves does not jostle him too much.

It’s fortuitous that the arrow hadn’t run through Minseok, because, had it, they would be down the weapon of their pair. Minseok needs to wield the spear, lest anything attack them, and in order to do so, he needs his hands—has already injured one and can’t lose the second.

Still, it’s a radiating sort of pain, the head of the arrow running through ribbons of muscle and tearing it beyond ample repair.

The horse’s breach the gates, running free of the thick, city chaos. Irene is still behind them, but belatedly so, since she moves on foot. She doesn’t give chase, but her Court, and Seulgi… they _do_.

Or rather, they try. For just a moment before they’re able to run through the gate, it crashes to the ground, a cloud of dust and dirt startled into the air with it.

Kyungsoo puts his eyes back on the figures ahead of them, urges his horse just a little faster, and does all that he can not to think of the arrow protruding from his flesh.

Out in the forest, though, there are less distractors. The hellions had all gathered in the city for the most part, at least, for the beginning of the celebrations, and few have begun to move outwards and start hunting the forest. Which is good news for Kyungsoo and the rest of the fugitives, and bad news for them, because like this, they are closer to Baekhyun. To Kabé, the Cannibal himself.

“We need to stop for a few minutes,” Minseok calls. “Not long, just long enough to remove the—“

Yixing waves a hand over them, and the arrow turns to smoke, disappearing. But, his magic may as well hurt worse, jolting a scream from Kyungsoo’s throat as it sinks into his wound like poison and knits it closed. “No time to stop,” he yells back, sounding as though he _may_ feel apologetic. But, Kyungsoo could also just be hearing things as he grits his teeth and tightens his grip on the reins, continuing their gallop into the forest.

Trees rush past them like a blur, the horse’s hooves smashing into the sodden ground, kicking up water and mud. “Are we going closer to the Midemo?” Kyungsoo wonders aloud. It feels as though their trajectory is going straight for it, and he’s not quite sure if he _trusts_ such a plan. Not when he’d seen that great boiling wave rise up with his own two eyes.

“We’ve got to,” Junmyeon calls over his shoulder. “ _Hell_ is going to start turning on us soon. The sea is safer than the forest.” As if to punctuate his point, a tree crashes to the ground just behind them, its wicked branches scraping down Minseok’s and the horse’s backs.

Kyungsoo gasps, eyes wide, and pushes the horse to run harder.

They reach the beach only a few minutes after that, when the water is around their horses’ shins. Jongdae comes down from the sky at that point, shifting back to his human form, and, from the water, forms a horse of seafoam. Junmyeon’s magic tangles with Jongdae’s, and soon, he has a steed to join them with. “We have to go further West. To get to the bridge, we’ll also have to cross the Riwun.”

Junmyeon nods. “It’ll be rougher now with the Midemo as it is,” He motions to the sea—choppy and distressed. “But if we manage to cross it, the Bridge is only an hour’s ride from it.”

“How far are we from the Riwun?” Kyungsoo asks, assuming it’s some body of water, probably a river.

“Only a few minutes if we keep up the speed,” Yixing says, sending him a passing glance. “You’re trapped in Hell, aren’t you?” He asks.

Kyungsoo’s jaw tightens. He nods.

Oddly, it earns him some look of camaraderie with Yixing. A similarity they now share. Kyungsoo doesn’t belong in Hell. He’s not yet dead. But, he is trapped here all the same, _promised_ to stay here. And the only reason he’s trapped here is because of Jongdae’s choice: eat the heart and condemn himself, or forgoe it and condemn his men.

“Come on,” Junmyeon coaxes, and the group of them continue through the flood, wary heads hunched down against the growing power of the wind, the growing heat of the moon. Beneath them, the water boils up and sloshed around them—and, when it touches Kyungsoo’s naked feet, it _burns_ —but the horses seem unbothered, so they only grit their teeth and continue forwards.

“Is your arm all right?” Kyungsoo asks Minseok.

He nods, “The seafoam healed it,” he murmurs.

They lapse back into silence, remaining alert should any beasties come rushing from the treeline. Should Irene or Seulgi or any other manner of demons come after them. Kyungsoo catches movement out of the corner of his eye and glances back down at the water beneath his horse’s churning hooves. He sees scales and teeth and eyes, countless eyes. Alligator-like, swamp-like, the creature waits beneath the surface.

It doesn’t move to grab them, to trip up their horse, but it _waits_ as though it knows they’ll submerge themselves soon—the Midemo’s water rising minute by minute, ticking away the time they have left to even _begin_ to make a stand. “What waits for us in Ivíte?” Minseok calls out.

“Ivíte, himself. We need all of the gods. His court will be there as well. Since they’re near the Bridge, they’re prepared for a fight. Prepared to make a stand. We need to prepare before Baekhyun catches up.” Yixing calls back.

There’s the sloshing sound of an approach, dragging Kyungsoo’s attention from the water—where he’s caught sight of more monstrosities—back to the forest. Irene’s there, with her bow, but it’s no longer drawn towards him. “Who fed the Zenith?!” She snarls, her voice loud against the wind. Her countenance hasn’t changed—she’s still wild and deadly—but it has shifted. That anger, that gloating excitement in the _hunt_ has moved elsewhere. There’s fear coloring her actions _too_ , now.

Everyone looks at Jongdae.

Her lips curl as Seulgi appears through the trees, the Sisters: Sooyoung, Yerim, and Seungwan, behind her. “How long do we have?” She yells then, holding out a hand to keep the more frenetic members of her court at bay.

“We’re trying to get to Ivíte within the next hour and a half. Have to beat the Midemo. Hell’s been slowing us down,” Junmyeon says, motioning to Kyungsoo and Minseok, both of whom bear bloody stains on their shirts and scars from hellions’ claws. “An escort would be most helpful. Perhaps then, your courts won’t drown.”

Seulgi holds their gaze. The Focuses are all powerful women. If they refuse to help, they probably _can_ hold up on their own… at least, for a time. But, if Baekhyun can nearly slaughter Jongdae? They won’t manage at the very end. They’ll tire until Baekhyun, with all the madness of the Zenith, consumes them all. “We’ll be welcome in Ivíte?”

“I’ll petition you,” Jongdae concedes, his arrogance floundering now that the world’s been brought to its knees. “Your courts will be safe so long as they help us fight. Obviously, I can’t guarantee their survival, though.”

Irene bares her teeth, “If it looks as though we will lose the battle, I’m killing you myself, for bringing this upon us.” Then, her gaze falls on the two humans, “And I’ll kill you right after, for helping him.”

Eastern Hell’s Focal Courts join their retreat, loping along beside them, magic sparkling like electricity all around them.

***

The Riwun comes into view some time later, and, as Kyungsoo had guessed—it _is_ a river. The bend they’re currently approaching looks like it would normally be the thinnest section of the stream, and probably the most shallow, but now, with the flooding—the only way it can be identified is for the line of trees that would normally sit on its banks.

And the water _churns_ , boiling and rolling and crashing. Froth sprays up into the sky, catches the light of the moon, and turns that foreboding crimson. A reminder of how close they are to bleeding. How close they are to annihilation.

Junmyeon and Yixing cross first, their horse leaping into the water. It’s head’s submerged in the waves immediately, both Yixing and Junmyeon becoming unsettled in their seats, but, then its head reappears and it begins its frantic push towards the shallower water where the opposite bank must be. Between the debris in the water, and the knowledge of what lies below—those scaled monsters flashing to the forefront of his mind—Kyungsoo’s dreading his own turn.

Minseok’s grip tightens around his waist, clearly just as nervous.

Jongdae urges his horse through the water next, though this time, both go under, and for a much longer time than Junmyeon and Yixing had. Still, they manage to swim across the waves and climb out onto the opposite bank, sopping with water, heaving for breaths.

The Focuses turn to Kyungsoo and Minseok, motioning for them to go next. Kyungsoo’s pretty sure there’s no ulterior motive, so, he coaxes his horse forwards, up to the drop-off point between the bank and the river itself. The horse takes another step, and panics when its hoof disappears deeper into the frothing water, and it looses its footing.

It practically falls in, though Kyungsoo and Minseok manage to keep ahold of it and each other. The water’s _hot_ , burning their skin, searing it painfully deep. “Don’t swallow any,” he warns Minseok above the churning of the waves, though given it’s mixed with the saltwater of the Midemo, he’s not sure it’ll actually count as feeding from Hell.

Their horse swims to the opposite bank, though it feels as though it takes an eternity. When they reach the bank, the water’s risen further, now rushing around their horse’s knees, but, once they join the crew on the otherside, they’re moving again. “The Focuses will make sure their Courts can cross,” Junmyeon explains, before Kyungsoo can express any confusion. “They’ll catch up plenty quickly. Don’t worry.”

With the water levels as high as they are, though, their pace slows significantly. The horses genuinely have to trudge through the water, sloshing water up in front of them.

At the very least, Kyungsoo isn’t shivering—though his heart beats heavy and his head feels sodden with the heat from the water.

He looks out over the Midemo, in the direction of where the Obelisk had been. Sees it swirling with lightning and shining red, reflecting the light of the moon. It stands tall, firm, eternal. The Consumption will not harm it, will not sink it, will not tear it down. Kyungsoo knows this with absolute surety. He’s _convinced_ of it.

Even if Hell sinks beneath the sea, the Obelisk will stand there. Order amongst chaos. The physical embodiment of the Devil’s magic.

“Do you think they’ll actually be able to stop this?” Minseok murmurs in his ear, still gripping him tight.

Kyungsoo shakes his head, “I don’t know. Jongdae already tried didn’t he? He’s supposed to be the most powerful, right?” Except that, as he’d described to them, he is in his Nadir, his weakest point, while Baekhyun is at his strongest. His plan seems to have fallen apart. He seems to have counted on being able to control Baekhyun, when he absolutely couldn’t.

“But that’s just Jongdae. Now, there’s the Focuses—“ whom have rejoined their group, just as soaked through, just as miserable, “—and Junmyeon, Yixing, and soon to be Ivíte.”

Kyungsoo nods. “We might have a chance. I just… don’t know enough to know for sure.” He shrugs, “but Baekhyun. Did you not see him when we left the city…” The titan of blood, with eyes like the moon, with a crown of bones and teeth, with a gaping, carnivorous maw. “I don’t know if it’s possible,” he says then, shaking his head again. He’s _not_ confident they can do this. Not when he’d watched Baekhyun stand up from the ruins of his palace.

“There’s the Bridge!” The shout is one of elation, though Kyungsoo’s not quick enough to catch who actually says it. It _does_ give him a flash of hope though, to see that massive bridge standing up against the crashing waves in the sea. Its roof drips with water. It’s cascaded over several times as they approach, and water laps at its bricks, alarmingly close.

The roof is the problem. If the water continues to rise, or if the bridge collapses, the roof is what will make swimming to the surface nearly impossible. The roof will add the confusion. It’ll be their grave, should the worst happen.

There’s a great crashing from behind them, dragging their attention from the stone bridge back behind them. There, in the near distance, amidst the red clouds in the sky, there’s a silhouette. An imposing one. A _terrifying_ one. This is not Baekhyun, but rather, is Kabé, at full strength, unhindered, unrestrained.

They pick their way up the stairs leading onto the bridge, and then, take off at a gallop once more—the lower water level allowing them to pick up speed. The only problem is the stone, slippery with water, has the horse’s hooves skittering, has the demons in the courts behind them scrabbling along its surface, struggling for purchase.

Kyungsoo just focuses on keeping his balance and encouraging his horse to keep its speed. Kabé—Baekhyun—is far too close. And this bridge is a long one, stretching so far into the distance that its end is obscured in fog.

Their horse slips twice, and on the second, Kyungsoo’s jolted from the saddle and thrown over the animal’s neck. He hangs on just barely, but it’s Minseok’s grip on his waist that brings him back into his seat. But a second later, still shaken, there are bigger problems to worry about, the bridge suddenly _shaking_ , a deep vibration running through the stone, rattling bricks from the ceiling. A demon that has paced them all this way is caught by one of the bricks and is struck dead, its corpse swallowed by the horde running behind them.

Kyungsoo chances a look behind them. “Dear god,” he gasps. Minseok looks too, now, eyes widening at the sight behind them.

The bridge is collapsing, the roof falling inwards, rippling towards them at a pace just quicker than their own. The demons at the end of the group fall into the surf, the floor falling out from underneath them, the roof caving in on top of them.

Seulgi’s also looking behind herself, gasping at the sight. Yerim too, though the younger-appearing demoness is quick to run her hand along the walls. Her magic collides with Baekhyun’s, and while it doesn’t stop the collapse, it _slows_ it down.

Kyungsoo returns his gaze up ahead. The end is in sight now. If only they can make it.

The floor falls out in front of them. Kyungsoo jolts against the reins, slamming the horse to a stop. He dallies for only a moment though, reeling the horse around and coming back at the gaping hole at a canter. The horse takes the jump, but it doesn’t make it, only it’s front legs clearing it.

Irene and Sooyoung both leap past them—Irene reaching out and snagging Minseok from the back of the horse as it slides down towards the water.

Another animal takes the jump—a bear—and drops into the water Kyungsoo’s now falling into. The horse sinks nearly immediately, but Kyungsoo treads the choppy surf, biting back a scream at the pain of its heat, and doing his best to avoid the horse’s churning hooves.

The bear snags his shoulder and throws him up onto solid ground, climbing up next to him. He recognizes those eyes. Seulgi. She pauses just long enough for him to climb onto her back, and then, takes off at a loping gait. Kyungsoo twists his hands in her fur and hunches low over her back. Here, running with her, he’s among the horde of the courts. Sees just how many demons actually run alongside them.

It’s a number similar to those of his own army. Not overly large, but certainly no small feat. This is an army capable of holding a line, should they have a good general.

This realization gives him new hope. He’s gone against horrible odds before—the massive Oslini army, in particular—and he’s fought well. All he needs is to fight well _tonight_ , when it matters the most.

The sound of the collapsing bridge is loud in his ears, his fall delaying him and forcing him near the collapse. If he makes it—and it’s really up in the air—he’ll be in-debt to Seulgi for a lifetime.

She’s got a lot more confidence about her own survival, for she slows down to help drag along the stragglers, rounding them up and shepherding them along, the rippling collapse rushing nearer and nearer, until it’s right on their heels.

Kyungsoo just closes his eyes and _prays_ to a god he doesn’t even know that they’ll make it out.

The moonlight hits his skin again, and Seulgi’s gait softens as her paws hit grass rather than stone. Kyungsoo heaves out a great sigh of relief and looks behind him.

The Lower Land Bridge lies beneath the Midemo, now.

***

While golems had been absent from the eastern side of the bridge, the same cannot be said for the western side—and while Jongdae and Yixing are both able to avoid an altercation, the others aren’t, and the _golems_ take responsibility for their escort into Ivíte.

Kyungsoo regards them warily as they approach the walls of a small city—one that looks more like a defensive keep and collection of barracks than anything else. The golems aren’t kind to those demons that stray too far from the core of the pack. He’s already seen several get ground underneath the massive, stone soldiers’ feet—and he’s sure he’ll see it happen a few more times before they get to the city gate.

Seulgi snarls each time one of her court members is killed, but outside of her territory, she has no realm fighting them. There are laws in Hell, and they are breaking all of them.

At the gate, they stop, the horde around them barking, snarling, howling, and growling. Kyungsoo finally catches Minseok’s eye, and sees relief there when Minseok realizes he’s survived. The moment can’t last, though, when they’re attention’s brought back to the impassive wall, and the gate reeling itself open for them.

A man appears at the entrance, tall, but proportioned as a typical human would be. He’s young looking, with angular features, sharp brows, and generally modelesque proportions. An adonis, beautiful, but also… intimidating in a shy sort of way. For he doesn’t immediately scowl at them, or even threaten them.

He merely… observes and soaks in the scene at his doors.

This is Ivíte, then, the Bird King.

 _This is Sehun_ , Kyungsoo reminds himself, remembering what Junmyeon had explained to him.

“What’s going on?” He asks, his voice soft, slightly nasally, but loud enough to be heard all the same. He’s a thinker, clearly, not one to jump to quick conclusions. He’s relaxed too, at ease despite the absurdity of the situation.

Junmyeon, who leads the line, explains. “Jongdae fed the Zenith blood of a pact. Kabé’s risen and begun the Consumption. The Midemo is boiling. Hell doesn’t have very long.”

As if to punctuate his words, one of the horses stomps the ground, sending up a thin splash of water. The flooding here in Western Hell isn’t as bad, really, isn’t bad at all. But, in time, it’ll worsen, as all things do.

“We’re preparing for a war, Sehun. Ready your Court,” Jongdae says, directing his horse past the god. “Baekhyun is just across the Midemo. He’ll be here within the hour.”

With that, the preparations begin. Sehun turns and begins to bark clear, clipped orders at those members of his court standing around. Yixing turns to the golems and begins rewiring them, his magic pulling at theirs and replacing their old commands. No longer will they protect the bridge, the borders. Tonight, they protect Hell from the very beast that helped create it.

Kyungsoo slides from Seulgi’s back, walking away from the bear as she shifts and begins to command her own court to take up a line of defense, the other Focuses doing the same—their voices rising up above the wind and the clangor of the horde.

Minseok joins him on foot, having slipped off of Irene’s horse, and both of them walk to where Junmyeon, Yixing, and Jongdae all stand, making plans for however they’re going to take on Baekhyun.

It’s decided that all will take on their true forms—their human skins holding them at bay. And, with Baekhyun having given in to his more visceral nature, they too need to do so. “I’ll meet him first,” Yixing says, “He cannot banish me until he has banished Jongdae. It’s part of the fold. So, I can delay him the most—tire him the most. I’m also at my strongest, given it is the Zenith and I am born of the East.”

Junmyeon nods, “I’m also strong at the Zenith, but he can banish me quite easily. I’ll stick to the keep, as will Jongdae, and Sehun.”

“He cannot banish me either,” Sehun interrupts. “Not when you are alive and we stand on Western land. He can feed off of me, though.” The group breaks into arguing at that, Jongdae quiet all the while, listening intently as they decide which is the best manner of attack.

Kyungsoo and Minseok both listen, but are out of their element. Kyungsoo… he can still feel the pulse in the jewelry Baekhyun gave him. Can still feel _Baekhyun_ across that strange, normally non-present pact bond. He’s like a fire in Kyungsoo’s veins, a presence that cannot be ignored.

And, despite the fact that his figure—that titan—looms in the distance, looking more monstrous, more devilish than anything Kyungsoo’s ever seen before… he still feels… like himself over that bond. Still feels like the Baekhyun Kyungsoo’s gotten to know, to trust.

It’s still the Baekhyun devoted to him.

He pulls Minseok aside as the gods bicker. “I think I can help this,” he explains, voice hushed. He glances Jongdae’s way—sees the Devil watching them with narrowed eyes—but he doesn’t come near. “Baekhyun, before we tried to go through the gate, I was asking him how long I should wait before calling on him.”

“All right?” Minseok says, motioning for him to go on, his eyebrows furrowed, confused.

“He told me I didn’t have to wait because he’d make time. Because he was devoted to me. He’d promised me subservience.”

“Baekhyun promised you that,” Minseok says. He points at the figure nearing them over the horizon. “ _That_ isn’t Baekhyun.”

“But it _is_ ,” Kyungsoo murmurs. “Beneath it all, that _is_ Baekhyun. Wild and out of control, perhaps, but it’s still Baekhyun. We’re still pacted. I can feel it. He _cannot_ break my pact.”

Minseok shakes his head. “You don’t know that.”

Kyungsoo huffs, “No, but do we really have _options_ right now?” He shakes his head. “Look, I’ll hang back like everyone else while they try and fight him, but when it starts to look like they’re _losing_? When it gets to that point of desperation? I need you to help him _hear_ me.”

Minseok holds his gaze for a long moment.

“We have no chance of returning home without him. You heard how he described feeding the Zenith. It’s the end of all things. It’s Hell swallowed up—and, if Junmyeon’s to be believed—the overworld will follow it,” Kyungsoo says. “If it doesn’t work, then it doesn’t work, but we can at least _try_?”

Another beat passes, and finally, Minseok nods. “Fine, yeah. Just tell me when.”

Jongdae approaches them now. “We’re going up atop the Walls,” he explains. “What are you two planning?”

Neither of them answer, and Jongdae doesn’t press, even as he leads them up atop the walls. There, they watch the courts create something of a line. Sehun’s hellions do so easily, their rows upon rows held in strict order—as is everything in Jongdae’s realm. Baekhyun’s Focuses, though, allow their courts more freedom. Let them run in a controlled mass. They have no ranks, but they have brute force.

They bite at each other’s heels, waiting for the moment Baekhyun steps foot on Western land. They are turning against their creator. Their King.

Jongdae’s gaze flicks to Baekhyun’s approaching form. He’s close enough now that they can pick out the bone necklaces hanging around his neck, decorating his arms. Can see his crown, can count each on of his razor sharp teeth.

Below them, Sehun and Yixing break into a run, shedding their human bodies as they do so. Yixing’s head warps and becomes that of an individual wearing a bronze, ram-faced mask. His horns lengthen and curl and wrap all around his head and neck, protecting his vulnerable throat. His skin becomes bronze, a metallic sheen that runs over muscles and tendons, and he sports legs like that of a satyr.

He wades into the sea, just as tall as Baekhyun, his magic rippling around him.

Sehun’s titan is thinner, more whimsical. It’s a phantom, half of his body intangible, half of it tangible. His head becomes that of a bird—a raptor, perhaps a falcon—and wings sprout all around his head and down his body, some of them real, some of them transparent and arcane.

His hands become like talons, wicked nails lengthening into claws. He is taller than Baekhyun in this form, but doesn’t have the same bulk to his muscle. He’s more lithe, fine-boned like a bird. A second set of arms unfolds from his chest, and it’s this set that conjures a bow suitable to be held by a titan, it’s wood as long as that of a ship, and the arrows, the length of a horse.

He draws his bow, notching an arrow, and lets it fly free.

It soars _through_ Baekhyun, the blood making up his body splashing with it, but ultimately, the wound closes back into place.

Yixing’s trudge out to him doesn’t stop, though, and he collides with Baekhyun— their claws at each other’s throats. The Midemo seems to enjoy the crashing of magic, and it swells in a great wall of water—surrounding Baekhyun and Yixing both—the wall far too high to even see the titans above it.

Still, Sehun keeps his distance, notching another arrow.

Beneath them, the hellions screech and snarl, the taste of battle on their tongues.

The Midemo’s water crashes back to its basin, and, as it reveals the titans, Kyungsoo’s heart sinks.

Yixing’s body is one made of flesh once more, the bronze seemingly draining away. He’s wrestled in Baekhyun’s grip as well, his horns captured by the Devil.

Baekhyun slams him into the sea, crouching down, his hand disappearing into the water with Yixing. And, when it reappears, it grips a beating heart in hand.

As they watch, he feasts on it.

And when Yixing rises up from the water, a gaping wound in his chest, his eyes are dazed, and he falls in line _behind_ Baekhyun.

***

Fighting begins on the shores quite quickly after that. Kyungsoo watches it all with rising horror. Though Sehun continues to challenge Baekhyun’s approach, he hasn’t been able to _slow_ it, and with Yixing acting as a _guard_ , following and attacking for Baekhyun—his attention’s forced onto that of the Harvester instead.

Which leaves Baekhyun largely uncontested.

Junmyeon takes his titan form, his body drawing water from the Midemo, his face of pearl resuming an expression of stoicism. He meets Baekhyun with fists, his body able to liquify and avoid the other devil’s attacks. But, even he won’t last. Kyungsoo can already tell.

In fact, Kyungsoo’s feeling as though his _own_ last-ditch plan is looking more and more laughable each moment that passes by. The simply _clangor_ of Hell makes it hard to hear much of anything. He can _see_ Junmyeon’s lips moving, knows he’s yelling at Baekhyun, knows he’s trying to be heard. And yet, Kyungsoo can’t even hear a _whisper_ of his voice.

“We’re going to die,” he says softly, glancing down at the blade he’s taken from his belt. It’s so _small_ , so meek. _He’s_ so small, so meek, compared to a _god_.

Minseok doesn’t even disagree. “Yeah,” he mutters, voice limp, eyes focused on where Baekhyun and Junmyeon battle.

Jongdae says nothing, yet, still stood silently with them on the wall. And then, _he_ nods, agreeing with them.

“Why’d you do it?” Kyungsoo asks, even though he believes he already knows.

“It was time for a renewal. You humans have forsaken us. You have brought war upon yourselves. You have become murderers and traitors and blasphemers. To overturn the overworld, you must overturn Hell,” Jongdae says. “I was mistaken to believe I could avoid having Baekhyun turn on me. The Zenith… it’s too loud. He couldn’t hear me, not over the _taste_ of his magic, the sound of a feast.” Jongdae’s gaze hardens where it follows the fight. His shoulders, though… they _slump_.

He feels as though he’s failed. His pride is significantly wounded.

“Why can’t he hear you?” Minseok asks. “Aren’t you one in the same.”

Jongdae hums, “The nature of the world is to create and destroy. I create and do not stop creating once I am set in motion—unless it is of my own volition. Baekhyun is the same. Once he begins to destroy, he will not stop until he _chooses_ to. But Kabé is _always_ hungry. He is the Maw. He is insatiable. He will consume this world until _we_ are one, once more. I had forgotten how deep that hunger ran. He controls it so well.”

Kyungsoo huffs, frustrated. There has to be something. He’s despairing, but he’s also… he _has_ to do something. There has to be something that can be done. If Baekhyun can’t hear him—and it’s quite obvious he won’t be able too…

“Our pact is still active. He’s bound to it.”

“He can kill you and free himself,” Jongdae says lazily. “I am the one who plays by laws, Kyungsoo. _I_ am the one who becomes bound to a proper pact.” He shoots Minseok a look of contempt. After all, Minseok’s pact was something of a failure, hence Jongdae’s easy escape. “But Baekhyun? He completes pacts by choice. His pacts, his promises, are only as strong as they are because he has to care enough to make them in the first place. But, there is no ulterior magic keeping him from slaughtering you and forsaking that promise.”

Kyungsoo gapes, his heart _plummeting_.

Baekhyun’s close now, the heat, the _scent_ of fire choking their senses.

Jongdae steps off of the wall, his body becoming that of a god’s as he falls. He lands in a crouch and rises up. He wears a crown of antlers, of hooves, and of bells, with a veil stretched over his face and hanging over his body. A loincloth sits on his hips, and bangles of silver and gold wrap his thighs, his ankles, his wrists, and his biceps.

His hands are skeletal, with nails as long as swords.

Baekhyun’s attention is immediately upon him, red eyes narrowing as he recognizes the other Devil.

When they clash, it feels like something coming together—something reconvening. In fact, the magic of it, the energy of it, is like that of the synergy—that time when the moon and the sun meet each other in the middle of the night here in Hell.

Jongdae’s slammed into the ground with ease, Baekhyun nearly _laughing_ as he does so.

The Zenith and the Nadir.

Jongdae picks himself up, though, black ichor running down his back, where his skin’s been ripped open and his muscles, his spine now lay exposed. He attacks Baekhyun with more desperation this time, his claws reaching for Baekhyun’s crown of bones, ripping it from his head.

Baekhyun’s magic falters, and his titan _roars_ , snarling as it reaches for Jongdae again, throws him _down_ again.

Junmyeon re-enters the fray, reaching for Baekhyun’s eyes, clawing through them.

Baekhyun turns, gripping his pearlescent mask in hand, and uses it to shove Junmyeon away, back into the Midemo. He turns his attention back to Jongdae, baring his mass of teeth.

A thought enters Kyungsoo’s mind and he looks back down at the dagger in his hand.

Minseok notices, too, and puts things together in the very same moment. “Don’t—“ he warns, but Kyungsoo’s already cutting his palm open and holding his hand up over the Wall, over Hell’s earth, so far below.

A drop of his blood falls to the ground, and with it, Baekhyun’s magic seems to swell. His head turns from Jongdae—who, weakened and injured, wouldn’t have been able to avoid his teeth—to Kyungsoo, his disc-like eyes shining, _searching_.

He stands, ripping Jongdae’s veil from his face as he does so.

On instinct, both Kyungsoo and Minseok look away. It’s instinctual. And, probably, for good reason, since they watch half of the court closest to them turn to ash and smoke—banished by the mere sight of Jongdae’s face. In the reflection of the water on the ground, Kyungsoo’s able to see him.

There’s a sort of beauty that goes beyond what humans can truly grasp. A beauty that becomes _awe_ , that becomes _fear_ , and _sickness,_ and _love_ all at the same time.

Jongdae wears that beauty.

“Don’t look at him,” Minseok warns. “The book—it—“

“I won’t,” Kyungsoo assures, keeping his hand, his blood held out in offering. He clears his throat. “Kabé!” He yells, voice loud, coaxing.

The Devil’s expression fails to shift, remains deaf to Kyungsoo’s call. But, his blood is enough of a voice on its own. He _knows_ Baekhyun can feel it. He knows Baekhyun _recognizes_ it.

Jongdae climbs to his feet, Baekhyun stepping past him and walking towards the wall. He drapes his veil back on, and follows, limping, gaitless, but follows nonetheless.

Baekhyun’s mouth gapes when he nears them. Kyungsoo’s heart patters louder. “Kabé! Remember your pact!” He yells, voice nearly breaking at the great volume he struggles to reach.

Minseok echoes him, but still, Baekhyun does not stop. His breath washes over them, hot and sticky like blood. His teeth slaver with drool, with blood, with _ichor_.

Jongdae’s hands moor themselves at his jaw, forcing it open. It’s the only part of Baekhyun’s body that does not slosh like blood. It’s the only part left wholly tangible. And, with Jongdae’s grip on it, Baekhyun cannot snap his teeth closed to consume them.

 ** _“Mua de asé.”_ **Jongdae snarls into Baekhyun’s ear. His voice as loud as the trill of trumpets.

It’s the language of the gods, that one they use for their names. Those languages used by the shamans and the priests from ancient times.

Baekhyun’s gaze flickers.

Kyungsoo doesn’t waste his time. “Remember your pact, _Baekhyun_ ,” he yells, unafraid to use the god’s human name, even if he wears a divine face in this moment. “Remember your promise. You are devoted to _me_ ,” he screams, stepping further out onto the wall, practically thrusting his hand into the Devil’s face. “ _I’m_ devoted to _you_!” He gasps, voice breaking hoarsely.

Jongdae continues his mantra in Baekhyun’s ear, repeating Kyungsoo’s words and adding his own prayers, his own requests, in _their_ language.

Kyungsoo shakes where he stands, frustrated and well aware that he stands on the precipice of death itself.

Junmyeon returns, staggering, and joins the verbal assault, his own voice like a siren, breathing promises and memories into Baekhyun’s ear. It’s then that Kyungsoo remembers who these two are. Remembers that these are Baekhyun’s lovers, to the highest degree. Remembers that its these two that Baekhyun’s truly devoted to.

“Swallow your hunger!” Kyungsoo continues, voice cracking. “It’s not your time to feast.”

Baekhyun rises up, snarling, and in that moment—all of the magic in Hell seems to _snap_.

The force of it shakes the ground, and Kyungsoo—stood as precariously as he is… he _falls_.

***

Kyungsoo wakes up alone, but warm, on a bed of clouds. The walls around him are obsidian black, and the ceiling bears a blanket of stars. It’s with these observations that he’s able to figure out _where_ he is—the Obelisk. “Baekhyun?” He mutters, groaning. His head feels as though it’s splitting, but it’s also foggy, as though he’s missing huge blocks of memory.

And, as things start to come back, he realizes he _is_. The last thing he can recall is plummeting through the air, the acrid scent of fire and smoke and blood in his nose, the harsh snap of Baekhyun’s magic rippling across Hell. And after that… _nothing_. It’s as though someone’s cut out that part of his experience and discarded it.

Even if he had died, which seems the most likely explanation, shouldn’t he have resurrected in Eastern Hell, amongst Baekhyun’s court? Shouldn’t he have resurrected as a spirit or a phantom or some other hellion?

Hushed voices sound from downstairs.

He staggers to his feet, pressing a hand to his head, and walks to that spiral staircase, careful not to misstep and fall—again. The second level from the top of the obelisk is the one that had housed the statues of Kabé and Dívo. But, the room has changed. While both statues are still present, there is a third—stood on the edge of the room, halfway between the other two. It’s a human body, but it’s face is obscured by flowers—lillies— and the only visible feature is a pair of eyes that peeks forth from the flora.

They’re familiar.

The statue also wears a crown of wood and bird wings, a robe of furs and drapes. And, upon its breast, hangs a pendant. Kyungsoo reaches up to where his gift from Baekhyun lies, feels the shape of it.

 _No_.

His head pounds, but his heart _stutters_ as he walks down to the third level from the top. The level upon which a map of their world lies. Baekhyun and Jongdae both lie in the water, their fingers swirling through the liquid, stirring up cloud and storms.

At Kyungsoo’s appearance, both of them look up.

“What am I?” He asks, wasting no time.

“One of the Nabo,” Baekhyun says calmly. “You are a Devil, just as we are.” His gaze is hard to decipher, half-affectionate, half-apprehensive. “Jongdae tested you—though he had no inclination for anything to come of it.”

“With what?” Kyungsoo asks.

“When he asked you to eat my heart and condemn yourself for the sake of your men,” Baekhyun says. “He was never meant to do so, but Jongdae’s fond of… trials.”

Jongdae looks away, tapping the surface of the water.

“You chose to condemn yourself and impressed both of us. I couldn’t take back the fact that you had consumed my heart—to whatever minimal degree that you had—so I made a pact of your actions. If you were to die, you would reign in Hell. You wouldn’t become a member of a Court. You would be… singular to yourself. Power unto yourself,” Baekhyun explains. “You weren’t supposed to die, though.”

At the Wall. He had fallen.

The titans must not have caught him. His body must have been dashed against the ground, bones broken and cracked.

“I don’t feel any different,” he says.

“Is there a difference to feel?” The other two Devils ask. “Magic isn’t endowed. You are the same as you were before, merely with new vision, new responsibility.”

Kyungsoo’s eyes narrow. “And that is?”

“He is chaos, I am order. But we are Hell together, the _oblivion,_ together,” Jongdae explains. When his gaze finds Kyungsoo’s again, it’s curious, absolutely glittering with the emotion. “The Overworld deserves a god of its own, don’t you think? A champion for them. Someone to protect them from the Devils’ whims.”

Kyungsoo shakes his head, “I don’t want to be known as a god, or a devil, or anything else. I am Kyungsoo. I’m _human_ ,” he says.

Baekhyun looks away, though he doesn’t appear surprised by Kyungsoo’s response. “You don’t have to be known as a god or a devil or anything in-between,” he agrees. “You can be Kyungsoo. You can return to the overworld. In fact, it’s encouraged.” He looks back to Kyungsoo, his eyes soft, worried, but firm. “All humans die. You died earlier than most, but now, you live and will continue to live. Masquerade as human for as long as you like, but come back to us when it is time.”

Kyungsoo’s hands shake. He continues to descend the staircase, leaving Baekhyun and Jongdae both behind. He walks to the very base of the Obelisk, where the shore is stony and glass-like, with black, volcanic rock, and gray, dreary sand.

Across from him, he can see Eastern Hell, with its grass and forests and animals. Smoke rises in places—it’s not recovered from the Zenith quite yet—but, it’s unmistakeable.

He hears the shifting of rocks behind him, an early indicator that someone’s walking up.

Hands settle on his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” Baekhyun says, his voice open—honest as it always is. “I should have done more to protect you from Jongdae. But…”

Jongdae is a god, himself. Baekhyun shouldn’t pretend as though he has that much control over him. Jongdae’s his own person, with his own choices, his own tricks, his own sins. “Don’t apologize. We had a pact and you kept it. Jongdae told me you didn’t have to.”

Baekhyun hums, “I’m not bound by promises except by my own choice. He’s right.” His hands squeeze, massaging Kyungsoo’s shoulders, easing out the tension. “You won’t be bound to pacts except by choice either. But you’ll feel obligated to. That’s just you as a person.” He sighs.

Kyungsoo does too, his head spinning, his heart thundering. “How do I return to the overworld, now? I want to go. I have to think. Will they know what I am?”

“Not unless you tell them, or take on your inherited body.” The titan-like body. No. He won’t be seeking that out, even if it looks as calm as that flower-faced statue near the top of the tower. Baekhyun continues, “And you will go to the overworld if you will it. I suggest choosing a place where your appearance won’t be questioned. Where you’ll immediately make an ally.” He pauses, “My shaman—Kadira—go back to her. She’ll know what you are, but she’ll protect you. She will serve you because serving you is to serve _me_. You should probably try and find Minseok, in time, as well. He’s already returned.”

The image of Kadira’s cabin floats to mind, excessively vivid, and though Kyungsoo hadn’t meant it, in a blink, he is there, gasping and rising up from a crouch. Baekhyun’s suggestion to find Minseok also comes to mind, but Kyungsoo isn’t as easily compelled to go to him. The image his mind conjures isn’t strong enough to send him away.

Kadira is not home, though the animals she keeps in her home startle at his entrance. He stands and waves a hand over them on impulse, as if to calm them, and _surprisingly_ , they do calm, an almost glassy, tranquil look crossing their faces.

The next thing he notices is that he is naked. Kadira has _seen_ him naked, though only in the context of a summoning, and that is how Kyungsoo would like to keep it. So, he takes the liberty to look around, finally finding a woven blanket that he throws over his shoulders and holds closed at the front. Then, he goes back to that entry-room, where Kadira keeps all manner of her things, and takes a seat at the worn, little table, reaching out with one of his hands to pet the top of a cat’s head.

He’s there for several hours in which no one returns home, but any concerns he’d had for Kadira’s lack of appearance are soothed by the cat—which is well-fed and groomed—and the freshly picked fruits that lie on the counter. Which, of course, reminds Kyungsoo of another thing. It’s no longer winter here in the overworld, and while he has no idea how long he’s been away from it, how many seasons it’s gone through, he _does_ know he’s missed at least an entire winter cycle. Perhaps even two.

The door creaks open and Kadira, with her long, grey braid and a sack of grain and fish thrown over her shoulder, appears in the threshold. Her eyes immediately find his, scanning over his frame. And then, for the first time, she inclines her head towards him in respect.

“How is it that a human king becomes a god?” She asks, walking inside and putting down her wares. “Did you beg for divinity so that you might earn our loyalties?”

Kyungsoo snorts, “I would prefer the other shamans not know. Baekhyun told me it may be best that I find you,” he says calmly. “I’m not ready to be a god.”

“You’re the only man that’s ever said that,” Kadira mutters, turning to face him again. She places her hands on the counter behind her and regard him carefully. She goes silent for so long, Kyungsoo begins to squirm, anxieties crawling up within him. If she refuses to help him… it’s not as though he’ll suffer any more than he has, but things will be so much easier with her help. “How did you earn his favor?” She muses, shaking her head.

“I was devoted to him,” Kyungsoo says, quite honestly. “I was devoted to my men. But I don’t think I’m deserving of it.” He shrugs, “I’m just any other person, trying to do their best.”

Kadira’s eyes flash as though she understands, on a deeper level than Kyungsoo’s retold, and to be completely honest, she probably does.

“Your general is on the Throne.”

“My friend. And, when we return to the Palace, if he wishes to keep it, he will. I am happy as a guard, as an advisor, as a commoner,” Kyungsoo says again. “I was never a King for the valor. I took the chance because I needed to.”

Kadira nods, slow and meaningful, and claps her hands together. “Then, let’s get you dressed. Have you a divine name?”

“Does it matter?”

“I’ll have to have _someone_ to invoke,” she says. Kyungsoo shakes his head, telling her that he _hasn’t_ taken one. Hasn’t been given one. “Then, you’ll be called Síla, which means ‘iron’ in the language of the gods,” she says, the name rolling off her tongue. “Iron, gold, and silver.”

Síla, Kabé, and Dívo.

***

He leaves Kadira at the gate into the city. Mostly because she does not want to travel further inside, not with how the crown has treated her in the past. That being said, she bids him farewell with the promise to tell the other shamans of Kyungsoo’s intentions—to speak of his character—and perhaps, with her account, those shamans that are too afraid to move back to the city, despite their desire to, can finally scrape up the courage.

Kyungsoo won’t treat them harshly. Not after what he has seen and experienced. Wouldn’t have treated them harshly even before then.

His approach to the palace is a lonely one. He’s not recognized in the streets given his garbs are like that of Kadira’s—rabbit furs and wool-knits rather than the lighter, cleaner fabrics of the capital—and for the simply fact that Kings are rarely known for their faces. They often spend too much time in their Keep.

 _Kyungsoo_ hadn’t gone out often—only during the Midfall Dinners—and even then, he was typically quite tentative. It’s a strange feeling to walk through the crowds like this. Half of him is happy to live in obscurity, but the other half of him feels like he should have been more memorable for his deeds.

He has time, unless Chanyeol doesn’t wish to relinquish the Throne. In which case, Kyungsoo will happily fall back into the ranks. But, he knows Chanyeol, knows he likes the _phantom_ of responsibility more than responsibility in the flesh. He’d be shocked if Chanyeol genuinely wishes to retain the Throne when there’s the option to return to the Noble Courts, to party, to drink, to love.

The first place he’s recognized is at the gate into the inner keep. The guards originally brandish their swords, prepared to tell him to leave and go through the civilian gate, but then, they realize who he is and they falter.

What _does_ one do when there is a King inside the palace, but also one outside?

“Court ought to be in session. I’d like to attend,” Kyungsoo directs softly, solving their problems for them. “To see how General Park is running things?”

The guards straighten up, confused, but ultimately, unable to _refuse_ the order. They let him inside, and then, one follows him in. No doubt to explain himself should Chanyeol have an adverse reaction.

He won’t. Kyungsoo’s sure of it as he walks into the gallery—on the floor, where the civilians stand—and waits for his turn. He’s even _more_ sure of it when he spies Chanyeol leaning over his desk, head propped up by a hand, eyes tired, but feigning interest anyways. Jongin stands behind him, helping to guide his decision.

Whatever problem the commoner had is solved by the end of the meeting, and he sees everyone shift and get ready to stand.

The scribe near the door stops them. “We have one more speaker,” he calls out into the gallery. “They came late.” And then, turning to Kyungsoo, he tells him to introduce himself and to make his address as succinct as possible, as not to waste the time of the King.

Kyungsoo steps into the light and waits for that sound of recognition to pass through the room.

Chanyeol recognizes him immediately, probably had his suspicions the second the scribe had called out that there was an unexpected guest. His face warps into a smile. He immediately rises up, bowing, and in that boomingly loud voice says, “Your Majesty, I thought you were dead.”

“Fortunately, I’m not,” Kyungsoo says softly, the words feeling out of place on his tongue. He’s not dead, but he has died. “The Devil dragged me into Hell. The Oslini King, as well,” He relates.

A murmur passes through the crowd. Those that were not soldiers probably don’t know anything of the Devils. Are at the same place that Kyungsoo was when he first received Chanyeol’s letter. He doesn’t know how much they’ve been told, and if any word has come back to them about what things were actually like.

They think him to be mad.

He’s lucky Chanyeol knows.

“You’ll have to tell me,” Chanyeol says, his tone letting Kyungsoo know that he’s been heard, that he’s believed. “In the meantime, it’s best you are caught up.” He gazes at the nobles in the court and dismisses them with a wave of his hand. “A king cannot lead if he’s not familiar with his kingdom.”

Chanyeol motions for him to follow, and they both make their way inside, into the private hallways. There, Jongin’s folding Kyungsoo into a hug as tight as those his brother used to give him. “I actually thought you were dead. Chanyeol told me that the bridge—“

Kyungsoo nods, patting his hand, and coaxes him to quiet down. He’s frantic, nearly panicked, and it’s then that Kyungsoo remembers who his friends are. Chanyeol and Jongin. They’ve waited for him. They’ve believed in him. “Jongdae opened up a gate into Hell and pulled Minseok and I into it. He wanted to break my pact with Baekhyun—hoped I would drown in the Midemo.” He pauses, realizing they don’t know what any of this means, and sighs. “Actually, let’s wait. Once I have some parchment in hand, I’ll show you where I’ve been.”


	5. Chapter 5

Several weeks later sees that he’s still catching up.

“So, Oslin remains a threat on our border?” Kyungsoo repeats, tumbling the words around his mind. Chanyeol nods from the windowsill. Jongin’s hand roves over the globe mounted near Kyungsoo’s desk, spinning it with the tip of his fingers. The study is calm, quiet, and _private_ —perfect for their purposes. “There’s been no word of Minseok’s return to the Throne?”

Chanyeol shakes his head. “Our scouts said that the House of the Falcon is flying its banners over Heolmkeep. Contacts further inland state the same of even the Capital. Minseok is the House of the Lynx. If he had returned, the banners wouldn’t still be flying a foreign house’s seal.”

Kyungsoo pinches the bridge of his nose, staring down at the face of his desk. “Do you know if he is dead?”

Jongin shakes his head. “We’ve had no word of him at all. Not even mumblings from villages within _our_ borders. And it has been months since the Solstice.” Kyungsoo had found his way back into their world later than Minseok, and yet, here he is, already having reclaimed his throne. Minseok _should_ have been capable of doing the same.

Kyungsoo says as much, then lets the room fall back into silence, the only sound shattering it being the subtle tap of his fingers against wood. “We _will_ capture Heolmkeep once more. You said they fashioned a temporary bridge so that they can control both sides of the fortress?”

Chanyeol confirms.

Kyungsoo sighs. “I had hoped that, with Minseok reclaiming his Throne, that he might be more susceptible to… reason. We _did_ have to work together. He saved my life and I saved his, on multiple occasions.” His fingers still and he looks up. “Baekhyun—Kabé—is still devoted to me. We can use him to finish the war. May as well, since Dívo is not going to be wreaking havoc on the field.”

“Is that wise?” Jongin cuts in, cocking his head, his eyes narrowed, eyebrows furrowed. “With all due respect… the only reason you originally summoned Baekhyun was to counter the other devil on the field. The men were wary of him even then, when he had a purpose.”

Kyungsoo pauses. He’s grown used to having Baekhyun at his side, as a fighter, a confidant. “I can control him, now. And the men are wary of anything they do not know. They’ll appreciate him when he helps to keep them alive.”

Chanyeol fixes him with a stare. “How can you be so sure he’ll _let_ himself be controlled? I heard the stories from the Oslini prisoners we managed to take. Their devil cut down five men in their own army.”

“Kadira said that Kabé would cause a massacre. That Dívo was the safe summon because he had restraint,” Jongin reminds. “ _That_ was her warning to us. It was to make sure Kabé did not bathe our fields in blood.”

“Baekhyun won’t,” Kyungsoo says with an air of finality. “Things have changed. He is still deadly, but… you misunderstand his nature.” At that, Kyungsoo conjures up an image of Baekhyun’s face, and then immediately after, the memory of his summoning. With it, the air in the room seems to thicken, the hair on the backs of their necks rising, and then, Baekhyun is unfolding from the floor—his body near fetal, covered in gore and exposed muscle.

As he writhes, though, he fashions up his human skin, and so, after a few short minutes, he kneels and looks upright, his warm eyes locked onto Kyungsoo’s. “I didn’t expect to hear from _you_ so soon,” he murmurs. At Kyungsoo’s gaze—serious and tense—he lowers his head near submissively. But nothing about Baekhyun is submissive.

He’s making observations, looking to see who else is in the room without staring at them openly. “And you’ve made a spectacle of me while you’re at it.” He raises his head once more, gazing at the other two. “Your advisor and your… general,” Baekhyun murmurs, recalling his memories of the two. “Trouble on the Front?”

Kyungsoo snorts. “Oslin remains a threat. Minseok is missing. I had hoped we would settle for peace once he resumed his place on the throne, but… it appears as if that’s not the case.”

“Pity,” Baekhyun says, seeming not to care all too much. “He was clever, would have made a better King after all of his experiences.”

“Can you find him?” Kyungsoo asks.

Baekhyun grins, raising a brow. “I don’t need to.”

“And why’s that?” Jongin asks sharply.

“Well, he’s already found you.”

At that, there’s a knock on the study door. Everyone’s head turns, but when the door slides open, it’s merely a servant. “There’s someone at the Council Hall. I told them that the court has retired for the day, but he is adamant that he cannot leave. He said it was imperative that he see _you_ , and not anyone before that.” The servant speaks quickly and lowly, their manner calm, but worried at the same time.

Kyungsoo glances back at Baekhyun, who wears a smug smile on his face, then rises up. “Chanyeol, Jongin—come with.” And he sets off following the servant. “What made you listen to him?” He asks them.

The servant inclines their head ever so slightly. “Normally I would find one of the lower ranked council members to deal with such a situation. But, he said his name was… Kim Minseok, of the Lynx.” They look to Kyungsoo with wide eyes. “And that is the name of the—“

“Thank you. You’ve done well,” Kyungsoo cuts them off. “See to it that word of this goes no where. You’re dismissed. I can find the council room on my own.” Not to mention he has both Jongin and Chanyeol tailing him. The servant bows and skitters away, quick to leave them be.

At the doorway to the Council Room, Kyungsoo stops. “Worried?” Baekhyun murmurs, sliding a hand up his shoulder.

“No,” Kyungsoo says. “I just… don’t know what he expects from me. I have no use for my enemy.”

“Unless they become your friend,” Baekhyun continues. He pushes the door open for Kyungsoo and holds it long enough for the trio to walk inside.

Minseok stands alone in the center of the room, bathed in the golden light of the sunset outside. He looks up at the sound of the door and the approaching footsteps, but his face does not break into a grin. It _does_ soften, nearly relieved, but it doesn’t lose all of its tension. _No_ , Minseok’s too apprehensive for that to be the case. “Thank you for coming to see me,” he breathes, clearing his voice and adding a bit of strength to it. “I didn’t know where else to go, who else to trust.”

“What do you want?” Kyungsoo asks, voice imploring, but hard. “What makes you think you can trust me?”

Baekhyun snorts, finding a seat to recline in. At a glance, he looks amused, but interested, his eyes flickering between Kyungsoo and Minseok.

Chanyeol takes up a place to the side, leaning against one of the pillars supporting the balcony in this great chamber. Jongin shadows him, curious but unwilling to get in the way of Kyungsoo’s confrontation.

Minseok shifts on his feet, but he’s never been shy. He’s just as proud, just as arrogant, as any King might be. “I need help to reclaim my Throne. I figured the chance might interest you… I can only offer peace—lasting peace, but…”

Kyungsoo holds his gaze. “Peace will only last so long as we live. How can you ensure it will last?”

“We can marry,” Minseok says calmly. “Create a lineage that rules our kingdoms _united_.”

“We cannot create a lineage,” Kyungsoo says, crossing his arms. Baekhyun tuts his tongue, as though he has something to offer, but Kyungsoo shoots him a glare. He’ll not entertain the though of _magic_ giving them the ability to conceive. “Unless by surrogate, and even then, the child will only be connected in blood to one of us.”

Again, Baekhyun makes an abortive sound. Again, Kyungsoo ignores him.

Minseok’s eyebrows furrow, at a loss for words. He must have expected that Kyungsoo immediately be accepting of him, of his proposition. But, Kyungsoo is ruling a kingdom, and he needs to put their needs first.

“I _do_ want peace. I hope that’s clear. And I _do_ think you’re the one that’ll give me that peace,” Kyungsoo says. “But… I have to be sure it is worth the war you suggest. It is one thing for me to reclaim Heolmkeep. It is another entirely to march into a foreign capital to reinstate a foreign king. I’m not saying it’s impossible, only that it’s a great effort. One that I truly have to commit to, and in full trust of you to be loyal to our plan.”

Minseok nods, “I understand. I don’t think it is impossible to make that lasting peace, even after we are gone.”

Baekhyun hums, but before Kyungsoo can comment, he’s speaking. “You’ll have plenty of options, I assure you. Be them by way of a shared lineage or election. You can find a way to secure peace for the next generation at least.”

Kyungsoo’s shoulders relax. “Chanyeol, do you think we’re capable of an invasion?”

“We don’t have many men,” he says calmly. “We’re tired from the war. You are… inspiring, though. Your performance on the Bridge of Heolmkeep has won you devotion,” Chanyeol explains. “The men will fight for you, but… I don’t know how far into Oslini land we’d be capable of fighting.”

“Add the shamans,” Baekhyun suggests. “They aren’t loyal to you… yet, but they _are_ loyal to me and to Dívo. We can rally them. It’s been so long since magic was used properly in this world.”

Chanyeol frowns. “Where’s the glory in a war of magics?”

Baekhyun rolls his eyes. “Where’s the glory in _war_? You fight like men and you die like men, wallowing in shit and piss, crying for mothers and fathers, cursing the heavens and the hells. There is no glory in war, magical or otherwise.”

Kyungsoo hums, “It may be our only choice, Chanyeol. Let’s wait until the Highsummer Celebrations. We’ll ask the people how they feel about continuing the conflict. If they wish to fight for me, then we will fight, but if they want their rest… I’ll give them that.” He nods at Minseok, “In the meantime, you’re a guest of the palace. Come with me, I’ll see that you get something to eat.”

And so that is that. An hour later sees Minseok sat in Kyungsoo’s private lounge, a bowl of stew in front of him, as well as several slices of bread—should he want them. Minseok is ravenous, too, hunger clings to his frame. His muscle’s been eaten away and he looks _scrawny_.

“Did you even make it to Oslin?” Kyungsoo asks, referring to the capital city.

Minseok nods. “With great difficulty,” he says, swallowing down his food. “And then, once I was there, I realized all my allies had… well, they were no longer my allies.” He shrugs. “They’ll bow to power though. All I need is to get in a position like that once more.”

Kyungsoo hums, but says nothing more on the matter—he doesn’t know that the people will favor another war, especially a foreign one. Besides, Kyungsoo’s hardly made more than a few addresses since his return, and while they were accepted with great joy and fanfare, he’s sure a committal to war will gain the same response.

Baekhyun’s gaze is steady on the both of them, though he’s not in Kyungsoo’s line of sight. He’s always such a presence, unavoidable and _real_. “You should summon Dívo properly,” he suggests. He’s not talking to Kyungsoo, but to Minseok. “If what you say is true, and your allies bow to power… he will give you that power. He will make you feared.”

Minseok shakes his head. “Jongdae is… too sharp, too cunning. I’m not sure I _can_ outwit him.”

Baekhyun cants his head as if to say he agrees.

“And you won’t help me,” he continues. He’s right again, it goes against Baekhyun’s nature to help shackle his lover. Baekhyun is freedom, wildness. He’d never commit Jongdae to a pact. “So, it’s too dangerous.”

“You can always have a shaman help you,” Kyungsoo says. “That’s how I first summoned Baekhyun. Under the guidance of one.”

“Not that it mattered much in my case,” Baekhyun says. “But, he’s right. A shaman would be your best bet, though you’ll still have to outwit him—unless, of course, he wants to work with you.”

“He won’t,” both Kyungsoo and Minseok state in tandem, lips tugging into smiles just after.

Baekhyun snorts, “I’ll warm him up to the idea—in the meantime… get to know each other, Little Kings. Your futures are closely intertwined, if I had to guess.” He runs his hand up the back of Kyungsoo’s neck and then, vanishes, his magic following him.

The room feels much emptier without him there. His magic doesn’t crawl through their blood, doesn’t sing in their ears. And it makes the silence… unfamiliar, and somewhat uncomfortable. “I hope you didn’t have much trouble finding your way here?” Kyungsoo starts, pulling their attention back to a conversation.

Minseok hums, “A ship captain in Sengise let me ride down the river with him—didn’t even charge me.” He seems surprised by the fact, profoundly touched, even.

“We’re working towards being more kind with strangers. It’s slow going, but… it was an old marker of our culture. My predecessor ruined it and now we must rebuild,” Kyungsoo explains. “I’m glad to see the people are becoming charitable in this way.”

“It would never happen like that in Oslin,” Minseok says. “You’re on your own there. It’s a dog eat dog world.”

“You are a bigger nation—it is harder to affect change in such large droves,” Kyungsoo murmurs. “Seva… we could have been massive were it not for the persecutions and the floods. Now, we are like the ghost of an old nation. But, at least now we have more realm to change.”

They lapse into silence.

“What happened in Hell?” Minseok finally asks—and well, that _is_ the elephant in the room, isn’t it? “You fell from the wall. I was sure you died.”

Kyungsoo’s quiet. He could tell Minseok what really happened, but… Kyungsoo’s not even sure _he’s_ come to terms with it quite yet. _Síla, God of Iron._ Kadira’s words seem to echo about his head, a name for him to grow into, but one that he is not. “I wouldn’t know if Baekhyun revived me or if I simply survived. I woke up disoriented,” he lies. “I’ve only been back for a few weeks, but I’m still catching up to things. Chanyeol, my general, held the Throne for me in my absence.”

Minseok nods, slow and thoughtful, and finishes off his stew. Then, he reclines in his chair and looks up at Kyungsoo, his gaze oddly candid. “It must be nice. Being able to trust someone.”

Kyungsoo stares, _knows_ from his experiences in Hell that Minseok’s not had the same fortune. “You have someone you can trust.”

Minseok holds his gaze. “And who might that be?” He asks, even though they both know the answer. He’s hungry to have it _confirmed_ , though. He _needs_ it confirmed—almost like a child who needs to hear affirmation from a parent.

“Me.”

***

“Do you really trust him?” Jongin hisses, walking alongside him in the garden.

Kyungsoo raises a brow. “If you fought the Devils in Hell alongside someone, you would trust them by the end of it too.” He catches sight of a rose and plucks it from its tree, passing it to Jongin.

The advisor’s frown deepens. “But are you really going to wage a war for him?”

“I’ve been studying the Oslini forces. They’re bulking up again, and they intend to come south. Our land is precious to them, they will not let it go to waste; an attack is inevitable, especially since they believe us to be weak.” He pauses, lets his brain catch up to his mouth. “And even if we hold them off, we only enter another dragging war. It will continue for years. They will chip away at us until they can overrun us.” He shrugs, “I cannot, in good conscience, allow that to happen.”

Jongin sighs. “So, it is war one way, and war another?”

“A short war versus a long war,” Kyungsoo agrees. “I would like to rest, soon, and I am not even the man on the battlefield.”

“You will be,” Jongin says. “If you invade, you will have to be. Especially with Baekhyun slinking around.”

“He doesn’t _slink_ ,” Kyungsoo corrects. “He’s far too proud. And, I’m plenty all right with that. I fought at Heolmkeep, and I’ll fight at it again. It’s only right.”

Jongin hums and opens his mouth to say something else, but quickly closes it. He nods, directing Kyungsoo’s gaze through the garden. Minseok’s yet to spot them, sat with his back facing them, but he’s here. Jongin’s not quite a fan of him yet—for good reason—so Kyungsoo’s not too surprised to see him melt away, leaving Kyungsoo to engage with Minseok alone.

“You like the gardens?” He asks, noticing the way Minseok’s shoulders twitch—his flinch controlled, but only just. He looks up at the sound of Kyungsoo’s voice.

“You have flowers here that I’ve never seen before,” Minseok says, thumbing over the petals of one such flower. “They don’t grow in Oslin.” He’s quiet for a moment, and Kyungsoo really doesn’t know what to say in response, so… the silence… it drags on. Until, Minseok’s shaking his head again. “Everything here in Seva feels so much gentler. It’s so cold in Oslin—and I’m not even talking about the climate.”

“It’s very reserved,” Kyungsoo says, then, filling in the gaps. Minseok nods. “You don’t seem fond of your homeland.”

Minseok cracks a grin. “I’ve got bad memories, unfortunately. The culture doesn’t take to people like me. Once I became King… I became more blind to it, but now that I have nothing again… well, I remember it all and suffer for it still.”

“Why do you want to go back, then?” Kyungsoo asks. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just start all over?”

Minseok shakes his head. “I’m ambitious. I _want_ to succeed—perhaps a bit of it is spite. I want to prove myself despite my father’s doubts about me. And, I suppose sometimes, I hope that I am someone that invigorates others like me.”

“Change does not come without a figurehead,” Kyungsoo agrees. “But ambition solely for the purpose of proving something to others isn’t a satisfying pursuit. It’s a gnawing one that leaves you unfulfilled in the very end. Are you sure you—“

“I’m doing it for myself, too,” Minseok says. “Ruling, that is. Though, I suppose I have a lot still to learn.” He’s warmongering at times, incendiary at others. He’s cold and unforgiving. He’s a King… a damn good one… but he is not beloved. He is not an object of devotion.

“We’re always learning,” Kyungsoo replies. He offers Minseok a hand and pulls him to his feet. “Come on, I’m going out to the city. We can go see the shamans too. Kadira may know someone who can help you summon Jongdae, again.”

Minseok’s apprehensive, but he follows Kyungsoo through the palace and out the gates, into the city. Seva is… home to Kyungsoo. It’s a familiarity. And though he’s not the most outgoing king, he has met the people often enough to be known and recognized. Minseok is not the same—he is the stranger at Kyungsoo’s side. If anyone recognizes him as the baby-faced prince from decades ago—they don’t say it.

“When I first became king,” Kyungsoo starts, “I was afraid to greet the people. I worried that the scenario of my ascension would… make me unfavorable.” He pauses to greet one of the commoners, complimenting their dress, then returns to his story. “Jongin made me get out and see them. But even then, they were wary of me. It was strange to come back here and… resume my position and receive _love_ for it, you know?”

Minseok hums, “I’m sure it is satisfying, though, to know that your rule is appreciated.”

“It’s a give and take,” Kyungsoo agrees. “I’m sure that’s why I enjoyed Eastern Hell. It was ruled by a king equal to his people, in most situations.”

Minseok shrugs, “When people become too friendly, too close, don’t you think they begin to challenge the status quo more? It can be dangerous for the whole if those few people feel as if they can get away with it.”

“The status quo ought to be challenged—should be invited to be challenged,” Kyungsoo says, “that’s how you mediate, is it not?”

“I don’t mediate all that much,” Minseok says simply. “My position was already under challenge. The nobles did not wish to be ruled by a man who lays with men. They believe it a weakness.”

“Any lover is a weakness,” Kyungsoo says on impulse, before thinking better of it. “Or rather, love exposes you to weakness. Man or woman or anyone else. Your lover strengthens you, though.” Unbidden, Baekhyun’s face flashes to mind. They are not lovers, though. They are… mutually attracted, but not lovers. “But I understand what you mean. You had to be colder, harsher, more stoic in order to retain your respect. I’m sorry for that.”

Minseok’s gaze trails on a nearby busker and the couples dancing and spinning around him. It flicks back to Kyungsoo’s face. “The people are easy to win over. They respect humanity. The nobles are my problem. They are like snakes waiting to poison me.”

Kyungsoo rolls his shoulders back, “Then cut off their heads.”

***

“Kadira, I bring… fresh meat, I suppose,” Kyungsoo says, stamping his feet on the mat just outside her door.

The witch is home and busy preparing a dinner—or perhaps, a brew. She looks up from skinning a pair of rabbits and fixes the kings under her gaze. She raises an eyebrow, unimpressed, but not dismissive. “This is the Oslini King, then? The one who brought the Devils back to the battlefield?” Her voice is carefully controlled, but Kyungsoo can sense her judgement, and inwardly grins.

Kadira’s a powerful woman, one who had made clear just how powerful the Devils were. She had prepared Kyungsoo to meet Baekhyun. Minseok… never had such a person. He had an old book that he’d misinterpreted. He needs this interaction.

“I’m Minseok. It’s nice to meet you,” he says, bowing stiltedly. Kadira’s eyebrow rises further, her head cocking, her upper lip twitching. “Kyungsoo says I’ll need your help to summon Dívo.”

“Haven’t learned your lesson?” Kadira mutters. Kyungsoo snorts and takes a seat at her table, relaxing.

Minseok remains standing, shifting on his feet, seemingly torn between straightening up and looking _confident_ and acting shy in order to gain her sympathy. Kyungsoo offers him no help in reading the witch. If he doesn’t earn Kadira’s favor, then they can always look elsewhere. “Actually, I think I have,” Minseok says, raising his chin more confidently. “I failed once, and I suffered the Hells because of it. But, while I was there I think I came to understand Dívo better.”

“Oh?” Kadira begins to cut the rabbit meat into pieces, preparing it for cooking. “And how’s that?”

“Jongdae—Dívo, I mean… he’s proud and he craves control. He’s a perfectionist. But he’s also obsessed with legacy, with resetting the order of things. If I prove to him that Oslin is in disorder, and that I can reset the order… I can find his favor. I’m sure of it.”

Kyungsoo hums in agreement, “Baekhyun is… making him soft to the idea,” he explains. “It’s Baekhyun’s suggestion, actually, that we wage a magical war. I don’t want to kill my men, and it’s more likely that we’ll see defects from the Oslini side of the battle once they realize they are fighting both Devils, now.”

Kadira’s quiet for a moment. “Dívo will try and trick you, no matter what Kabé tells him. You said it yourself. He is proud—he will never willingly become subservient to a human. It’s inherently humiliating to him.”

“But not to Kabé?” Minseok asks. Baekhyun, after all, seems just as proud of a god.

“Kabé’s more affectionate towards human. He sees them as a facet of himself. Dívo sees them merely as _his_ creation, not as a reflection of his nature,” Kadira explains. “As I was saying, he is a dangerous summon, but… easy. So long as you’re aware of the danger and watching his words, then you can manage to survive it. You can also check the validity of a pact with him—“

Kyungsoo glances at her, eyebrows raised. “You can? How?” He imagines you can’t check with Baekhyun because Baekhyun never truly makes a binding pact.

“Draw his blood. For as long as he is pacted to you, he will bleed red. He is subservient to mortality, so he cannot bleed ichor, which is the sign of divinity.”

Minseok nods slowly, committing the trial to memory. “And if I test the pact and he doesn’t bleed red?”

“You will die,” Kadira murmurs. “He’ll realize you’re testing him and will forgo his games to merely drag you into Hell.”

Kyungsoo taps his fingers against the table, shifting in his seat. “Do you know the design of the summon?”

Kadira grins, “Of course, I do. I imagine it’ll be very different from what you got from your tomes, though,” she says, looking directly at Minseok. “I summon the Gods the natural way, as they were meant to be called up. We’ll have to travel to the sea.”

“It’s only an hour’s ride from here,” Kyungsoo says. “How soon can we perform the ritual?”

“I’m ready whenever you are,” Kadira says. “It’s been a long while since I’ve seen Dívo—especially a pacted Dívo. I am, admittedly, curious.”

Minseok pauses. “Can I have a day or two to prepare? I have to be able to outwit him and… I don’t think I can quite yet. I’d like to rest before I invite him back up into the overworld.” He doesn’t appear _scared_ , Kyungsoo notes, merely wary. And for good reason.

“We’ll come back after the Highsummer Celebrations. They’re in a week. By then, Minseok will be ready, and you too, I imagine?” Kyungsoo suggests.

Kadira bows her head and turns back to her stew. Kyungsoo recognizes a dismissal when he sees one, and guides Minseok outside of the cabin.

***

“I can sense your nerves all the way over here,” Baekhyun groans, flopping onto the lounge-bed. It’s positioned to sit in the sunlight, so it’s no surprise that the devil immediately makes to stretch out—exposing his skin to the warm rays filtering through the window. He’s _speaking_ to Minseok, though, who’s taken up pacing while he reasons out how he’s ever going to outwit Jongdae.

“When I summoned him the first time, I was being careful. I didn’t even realize he’d tricked me. He makes promises, just not specific ones,” Minseok explains.

“What did you offer him?” Baekhyun drawls, propping his head up. He looks over to where Kyungsoo sits—book in hand, relaxed as he can be with Minseok’s worry permeating the air—and grins, crooking a finger in invitation. Kyungsoo fixes him with a _look_ , and returns his gaze to the book. Baekhyun rolls his eyes and groans.

Minseok’s unaware of the exchange, so wrapped up in planning, he is. “I offered him notoriety and worship, in exchange for his help on the battlefield.”

“What did he agree to do?” Baekhyun asks, bored, walking Minseok through the original summoning once more.

“He said he would kill two soldiers in the morning, two in the afternoon, and five in the evening.”

“But he never said which soldiers,” Baekhyun continues. “Could have been your own, could have been the enemy. Didn’t much matter, only that nine ‘soldiers’ would die each day.” He shrugs, “So, if we’re fixing just _that_ problem, all you need is to be specific, but my advice is to stay away from numbers and concrete goals. Look for abstract pacts.”

Kyungsoo looks up, frowning. “Sounds like the opposite of all advices we’ve been given so far,” he says.

Baekhyun nods, “It is and it isn’t. You should still be specific—you _have_ to be—but it’s harder for Jongdae to break a pact that requires him to perform something… not strictly outlined? I’m not making sense.” He pauses then gestures at Kyungsoo. “Originally, Kyungsoo and I had a static pact. I asked to live like a king for as long as we were pacted—treated with reverence and decadence—and in exchange I would slaughter his enemies on the battlefield—even if that enemy was my own lover.”

He clears his throat and continues, “There was a time, though, in which I was released from that static pact and Kyungsoo was… tested by Jongdae. When I returned to him, we made a… fluid pact. An abstract pact. I promised him devotion if I saw his devotion in kind. I promised to do his word until his purpose was complete—to be exact. In this way, I lowered myself to subservience. I was bound to _his_ purpose, _his_ desire, _his_ word.”

Minseok looks between the two of them, blinking.

Kyungsoo nods, to confirm what Baekhyun’s described. “So, what you’re saying is that Minseok ought to word his pact in such a way that limits Jongdae to subservience, but… is also binding enough that Jongdae cannot lash back out at him.”

Baekhyun nods. “I suggest putting a time constraint on your pact, rather than a purpose. Say the passage of three or four years here in the overworld. And then, state that, at the end of that time, Jongdae returns to Hell alone, and specify that you will remain in the overworld—just to ensure he does not try and drag you down at the end of it all.” He chews the inside of his lip. “Play to Jongdae’s original desire. He _wants_ worship. You’ve given him notoriety. He _is_ feared. Now, make him _loved_.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” Minseok says.

“Make him love you. Make him your champion, and when you seize glory, the people will recognize _both_ of you—the King and the Devil who loves him,” Baekhyun says. “It’s like a political marriage—just with more difficulty. He’s not exactly a willing candidate… _yet_. You can earn his favor.”

“I don’t love him, though,” Minseok says.

Kyungsoo shrugs, “You don’t need to. But… you will. It’s hard not to fall in love with them once you’ve felt their devotion. It is the arcane made tangible—alive and powerful and glorious.”

“Are you admitting you love _me_?” Baekhyun crows, rolling onto his back and stretching, hands sliding above his head, toes flexed. His head hangs from the lip of the couch, allowing him an upside-down view of Kyungsoo, but a view all the same. One that reveals Kyungsoo’s subtle blush and frown. “You _are_!” He says, rolling back upright. “If it makes you feel better, I am _also_ in love with—“

Minseok clears his throat, looking torn between excusing himself from the conversation or interrupting and putting them back on track. All he’s done, though, is drag Baekhyun’s attention onto him.

“Minseok-ah,” Baekhyun purrs, “Don’t be jealous, you’re always welcome to—“

“Why don’t you check on Jongdae?” Kyungsoo interjects. “Before you overstay your welcome.”

Baekhyun sighs and rolls off the couch, disappearing into thin air before his body can crash to the ground. It leaves Minseok and Kyungsoo alone again, the air thick with a strange, unspoken sort of tension. “Baekhyun, as you know, has no filter,” Kyungsoo says lightly, relaxing back with his book again. “But, he does give good advice, and… you _are_ suitable for Jongdae. It won’t be hard for him to fall in love with you.”

“I would prefer to be respected than to be loved,” Minseok says.

“It’s the same thing. A mutuality. Do you think I would love Baekhyun if I did not respect him? That he would love me if he didn’t respect me?” He sighs, “Love without respect is a game. It’s not real and it means nothing in the long run.”

“I suggested a marriage between us—for peace. What is respect without love?” Minseok asks. Kyungsoo looks up at him. His mind flits to the moment in Baekhyun’s palace when they had all come so close to indulging. Wonders if it was purely carnal for Minseok—figures it _must_ have been. Perhaps, for Kyungsoo, it was as well. Though, he has to admit… there is something he appreciates about the other king, something he _could_ love in time.

“An alliance,” Kyungsoo says.

Minseok stares at him for a bare few seconds, then resumes his pacing. Kyungsoo’s beginning to agree with Baekhyun’s plan of distraction. Minseok _has_ to calm down. “Sit down, Minseok,” Kyungsoo coaxes. “I can’t read with you pacing so loudly.”

“How do I make Jongdae love me, then?” Minseok asks, sitting down on the couch with a _whumpf_.

Kyungsoo arches a brow. “You embody his ideals. Which… you already do—in many ways. Except that you don’t rule because it was your responsibility, nor because it was your birthright. You rule for spite, out of hate for your father. Jongdae may _be_ selfish, but he does not take pride in it.” He finally finishes the last line on his page, flipping it and beginning the next. “What I mean to say is, even if you must pretend, you are reclaiming your Throne out of obligation, not because you need it to prove something to _yourself_.”

Minseok groans. Kyungsoo resumes his reading, unperturbed by Minseok’s—now more stagnant—worry.

The Highsummer Celebrations are much like the Midfall Dinner in that they are seasonal festivities designed around eating, dancing, and other artistic mediums. Artisans comes out to create—jewelry, paintings, sculptures—in the street. Soldiers don their best armor—for they are celebrated for their valor at this time—and Capital Guardsmen pin gilded medals to their lapels. The nobles deck themselves in finery, but also, open their pockets, with each of their houses providing for a feast in different quadrants of the city.

Kyungsoo is responsible for a feast, as well, as representation of the royal family (even though he is singular—without a lover and without children). His takes place in the Capital Square, where long rows of tables wing each side of the square, leaving a space to dance in the midst of it all. There is a podium and pulpit, should Kyungsoo wish to make an address, even though it’s not really expected for him to do so at the Highsummers. These celebrations are more lax… more human, and with very few fears on the horizon.

Unlike the Midfall, this is a time of indulgence. It’s a feast without fear of being without—for the crops are still teeming with fruit and the floods have been held at bay. There is no winter on the immediate horizon, no famine awaiting them.

“These are bright,” Minseok comments, looking at the tunics Kyungsoo’s had the servants bring for him. They’re light pastels with frilly sleeves and flowery embroidery. Childish, perhaps, but expensive. Nobility often wears such items.

“It’s a summer festival, of course they are. Unless you would like to swelter in the heat?” Kyungsoo says, tying a tie around his collar and slipping rings onto his hands. He calls for Baekhyun—wants the Devil to meet the people in a situation less gorey than the battlefield.

Baekhyun appears a few moments later, smelling of burning pine and lavender oils. His skin has a healthy glow and gleans lightly with oil. He must have been participating in a massage or something similar.

“You need to fashion up something to wear, Baekhyun. Light, _friendly_ sorts of clothes. Can you do so?” Kyungsoo drawls, fastening the clasp of a bracelet around his wrist.

Baekhyun laughs and weaves up fabric between his hands, magic sparkling through the air, until he’s shrugging on a pink, satin tunic and white-cotton pants. He ties a fabric choker around his throat, allowing the tails to sit down over his chest.

He remains barefoot.

“Is this good enough?” He asks, preening under Kyungsoo’s attention.

Kyungsoo nods, “It’s fine. Be on your best behavior today,” he warns.

Baekhyun laughs, “When am I not?” And goes to pester Minseok, his hands crawling across Minseok’s shoulders and fixing the fit of the shirt he’s just put on. Minseok’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t push Baekhyun away—allows the Devil to help him get dressed, to fix his hair and blush his cheeks.

Eventually, the contact’s too much and Minseok pushes Baekhyun away—giving himself the chance to breathe. Baekhyun cackles, but goes willingly, draping himself across the couch to await the two king’s readiness. And once they are, he follows them outside onto the city streets and towards the waiting feast.

The crowd takes notice of Kyungsoo—they can’t ignore him, not with guards flanking him—but they don’t really part for him, not like they used to. They’re more welcome to engaging with him, in offering him their hands and telling him about their lives. A few ask about Minseok. They’re sharp enough to know he is not Kyungsoo’s lover just given the space between the two kings. But none _recognize_ him, and that’s good.

Kyungsoo introduces him as a foreign friend, for now. Someone who has saved his life.

And so, the people accept Minseok as a foreign friend of _theirs_ as well, wariness melting away in favor of inviting him out to dance. With Kyungsoo’s coaxing, Minseok _does_ go out to spin with the men and women in the street, gradually picking up the Sevan style of dance.

Baekhyun rests a hand on Kyungsoo’s shoulder. “You’re not going to dance? Just going to throw him to the wolves?”

“I’ll dance, but he needs to earn their trust. Don’t forget in an hour or so I’ll be proposing an invasion to these people. An invasion to put _him_ on the Throne.” Kyungsoo allows Baekhyun to smooth his hand down his arm, though, and interlaces their fingers. When the Devil pulls him in for a dance, he expects the conversation to lull.

It doesn’t. “They will think you a traitor. They have been dying to this King in a war they never wanted to fight. How can you ask them to help put him back on the throne?” Baekhyun muses.

Kyungsoo shrugs, “I’d rather be honest than—“

“Honesty will get you killed, and I say this as the God of Honest Men,” Baekhyun says, spinning them around. He smiles at a woman over Kyungsoo’s shoulder—his gaze glittering with interest.

“My people love me. They know I am a good man,” Kyungsoo drawls back.

“They will kill you. They will _always_ care about family over royalty. And if you laud a man that has been slaughtering their families, they will lose all their respect for you. I suggest you learn to lie.”

“How can I justify an invasion, then?”

Baekhyun hums, “I’m not sure you can.”

Kyungsoo weighs the option. Lying. He could merely say that Minseok is a man who’ll bring them peace. An honest soldier who defected. But… a lie will always unravel, especially one as large as that. It would take one flippant word, one misstep, and not only would _Minseok_ be a liar, but Kyungsoo too. “I won’t lie. I can’t.”

Baekhyun blinks, “Then let’s really enjoy this dance,” he says.

Kyungsoo frowns. “No need to be so fatalistic,” he says, taking the time to dip Baekhyun playfully. They twirl around again, and this time, Baekhyun lets go of him and latches onto some commoner that’s just danced by. He shoots a grin Kyungsoo’s way, laughter echoing up above the square, and disappears into the crowd.

Kyungsoo looks to his new partner. “Well, what kind of fortune is this?” he asks, spinning Minseok. “Slough off one man and end up with another.”

Minseok rolls his eyes, scoffing. “Have you thought of what you’re going to say?” He wonders.

“Funny you ask.” Kyungsoo looks to the podium nervously. “I’m hoping Jongin will have some advice come dinner.”

Jongin does _not_ have advice come dinner. All he can offer Kyungsoo is a shrug and a plea to act like himself. Which only brings Kyungsoo’s nerves bubbling back to the surface—Baekhyun’s warning sitting on the forefront of his mind. So, after he eats, and the feast has quieted somewhat as fatigue starts to set in, with the other quadrants of the city coming to the city center, he finally _does_ rise and make his way forward, to the speaking pulpit.

Minseok’s gaze follows him, but he doesn’t get up. If there’s a riot, he’ll have to stay behind, where he is protected by the guards… if the guards will even protect him.

Kyungsoo waits until the crowds attention comes up to him, allowing several minutes to pass before the entirety of the square catches wind of the coming address. They look at him with a mixture of trepidation and of loyalty. They can sense his apprehension, and they mirror it.

“I hope you have enjoyed the Highsummer Feast,” Kyungsoo begins, congenial, his voice echoing through the square. He glances to his side, where Baekhyun sits at the very end of the royal table—his chin perched on a bangled hand, a goblet of wine in the other. He offers Kyungsoo an encouraging nod.

Kyungsoo continues, “Your crops are fruitful, your labor more so. To express my gratitude, the luxury rations will be expanded. Coffee, cocoa, indigo, and some of our imported spices will be distributed with greater quantity.” He taps his fingers against the edge of the podium—a nervous habit. “Restrictions on grain and meat will be loosened.” They’d been imposed during the height of the war. But, if Kyungsoo’s going to wage a war heralded by the Devils… he’s sure they will not need restrictions as strict. Besides, Baekhyun is the God of Game. He can feed the men.

A murmur of delight goes through the crowd, but that trepidation does not cease. They are still nervous, and for good reason… Kyungsoo has granted them kind news. He must have bad news to give as well, otherwise he would not be so generous.

“I have more to ask of you though. And I understand that it is a… difficult choice. A personal choice. But it is _your_ choice. You know of our war with Oslin, the Kingdom to our North. You fought to defend our land from their invasion. Fought against an army of countless men.” His gaze roves over the crowd. “You fought alongside me at Heolmkeep. You may have lost someone to the bridge. And you have my deepest condolences.”

He sighs, “But, that war is not over. Oslin has retaken Heolmkeep. But, this is not the King we are used to fighting.” He looks back to Minseok, then, gestures for him to stand. “This is that King. Kim Minseok. I met him on the battlefield, and he was my enemy just as he is yours.”

The crowd is silent, but tension’s building. They look upon Minseok with a mix of hate and confusion. Minseok, whom they have danced with, whom they have fed.

“He fell into the Hells _with_ me, and he is the only reason I have managed to return to you, today.” Kyungsoo rolls his shoulders back, urging confidence into his frame. “He cannot reclaim his Throne. But… were he to, we would see peace for a lifetime and beyond it. He was ousted by snakes in his court. Those same snakes now rule Oslin, and they now threaten the land beyond Heolmkeep. Only, this time, we can’t survive them. You have fought too long, and though the floods cannot touch our cities, they destroy our villages and make a swamp of our lands. We cannot fight a defensive war. But we can fight an offensive one, one of surprise.”

Someone stands in the crowd. Jihyun. “Are you asking us to go to war for _him_? To put that murderer back on his Throne so that he might stab us in the back?”

Kyungsoo’s jaw sets. “I’m asking you to go to war for _me_. I’m asking that you trust my judgment of him. I’m asking that you fight now so that your children might live in an era of peace, when they need not worry about the borders, about famine, about a draft.”

Jihyun holds his gaze. She’d been the first commoner to trust him. If he loses her now…

“Why do you trust him?” She asks.

Kyungsoo relaxes. “I see someone malleable in him. I watched him go from mortal enemy to tentative ally. He saved my life in Hell—multiple times. I trust him because he is honest. He never hid his hate for me, but he’s never hid his respect for me.” He shrugs. “I remind you, though. This is your choice to make. My opinion of him doesn’t matter. I will be on the battlefield with you, if we favor an offensive war, but you are my army. I am your commander, but you are my force.”

Jihyun’s gaze flickers over to Minseok—appraising, searching. “How do we vote?”

Kyungsoo motions to the pots that have been set in front of the feast table. One is painted the thick red of war. The other is a smooth blue. A neutral, middle pot holds a multitude of stones. “Take a stone and cast it for war,” he motions to the red pot, “or for rest,” he motions to the blue.

Jihyun nods, and, confident as ever, she is the first to pick her way past the feast tables up to the pots. Kyungsoo watches her apprehensively. He cares about her opinion the most, oddly enough.

She picks up a stone and casts it into the blue pot.

Kyungsoo’s shoulders fall. He is disappointed, but… he is glad that she’s steadfast in her opinion. Glad that she’s unafraid to challenge him.

From then on, more people weave their way up to the pots. Many votes fall into the blue pot, but so too, do many fall into the red pot. Kyungsoo waits quietly, watching the pots fill up. “Would you like one of my men to count the votes, or one of your own?” He asks, once the trickle of people has died down and the pots have filled up.

They appear to favor one of their own, so Kyungsoo looks to Jihyun. She gets up, wordless and proud, and makes her way to the front. She counts the stones from each pot, picking one from each and tossing them to the side. Her actions are large, visible. She doesn’t want there to be any realm for mistake, nor does Kyungsoo.

“The city favors war,” Jihyun says finally, straightening up. The blue pot lays barren, while the red pot still holds a fair number of stones—she needn’t keep counting, as the choice has been made visible.

Kyungsoo hums. “There will be no additional draft,” he says clearly. “Those active soldiers that wish to opt out of the invasion will be allowed to do so. They are, however, expected to defend the border, as they have been.” He straightens up and bows to the crowd. “We’re going to see to a time of peace. I promise it.”

***

“When you summoned… Kabé—” Kadira says, glancing behind herself, her gaze flicking to Baekhyun as though worried he might comment on the use of his divine name, “—you did so following a ritual guided mostly by intuition. This will not be the same. In addition, Dívo will be far less… willing.”

“You act as though I was,” Baekhyun mutters from his spot on the back of Kyungsoo’s horse. His arms are comforting where they wrap around Kyungsoo’s waist—if a little distracting.

Kyungsoo scoffs, “You were very willing,” he says.

“Must have been your overwhelming beauty,” Baekhyun teases. “Can’t think of any other reason I’d be so docile.”

Everyone rolls their eyes. Give Baekhyun cake and wine and he’s as docile as a pup. Kadira clears her throat, guides her horse over a log of driftwood. “Dívo’s ceremony is often written down incorrectly—or at least, it complicates things more than necessary. You will still need a circle, but it isn’t a summoning one—it’s a protective one. The incantation used to call Dívo up will call him up unrestrained—apart from the sea.”

Minseok cocks his head, a question on his tongue.

“Jongdae’s wary of the sea, and for good reason. Shaja is the Rabbit God to you humans, but he is the Tide in Hell. He is the crashing ocean, the Midemo itself. And _because_ he is the God of the Sea, he does not need to be summoned to cross the planes. Jongdae will not _swim_ in a mortal water because Shaja will drown him,” Baekhyun explains, his tone drawling, bored, but underneath it all—proud.

Kyungsoo thinks back to Junmyeon’s story; remembers that Junmyeon had become a god because of Jongdae’s games, Jongdae’s trickery. Their feud is a curious one, and one Kyungsoo’s not sure he’ll ever truly understand.

“I assume that means I won’t follow him onto the dais?” Kyungsoo wonders.

“It’s not your summon to make,” Kadira and Baekhyun say at the very same time. Like god, like worshipper.

They reach the beach, and, just a short wade through the shallows and over a sand-bank, there rests a dais—just as Kadira had explained to them much earlier. It’s weathered and ancient, with sea brine sticking to its sides, oysters and barnacles clinging to the rocks around it.

Kadira takes Minseok’s hand and wades out into the sea with him, climbing onto the stone—the lead of a lamb in her hand. Baekhyun and Kyungsoo both remain behind, stood in the sand, their eyes locked on the scene before them. “Do you think he’ll manage it?” Kyungsoo asks, referring to the coming ritual.

Baekhyun purses his lips, thinking. “He might.” A beat of silence stretches between them. “He _can_ , but… I’m not sure if he _will_ ,” Baekhyun remedies.

Their attention returns to the dais.

Kadira has slaughtered the lamb, leaving it resting on the stone, bleeding openly. Minseok’s eyelids have been painted with the blood, and a smear runs down his neck and chest. “It’s to protect him,” Baekhyun says. “And to let Jongdae see him. A summon… of this design, at least, is not an invitation into your realm as a whole. He’ll exist solely on the dais and will only see those that are part of the ritual. The blood marks Minseok as such.”

Kadira places a hand at the back of Minseok’s head and guides him to kneel with his head down, his palms splayed over the rock. Kyungsoo doesn’t remember kneeling like that—thinks he just watched with his head held high. But, then again, Jongdae is a different beast all together. Baekhyun might not mind such a greeting.

The waves grow choppy, as if they _know_ what’s happening on the dais, as if they know _who_ is being summoned—and are not happy about it.

A bolt of lightning streaks down from the sky, and in the blinding white light, Kyungsoo sees…

 _Jongdae_ , veilless but _divine_. Like the time he’d seen him before, Jongdae is beautiful like this. His face no different from his human skin, but still, so, so ethereal. So unreal. So divine. He stands ribboned by lightning—a static bolt connected to the Earth—like a beacon.

“Is that how you always see him?” Kyungsoo wonders, tongue slow with his words, awe still clinging to him.

Baekhyun hums, “Yeah. He’s… splendid, isn’t he?”

With wild, unruly black hair—whipping in a storm that isn’t there—a sculpted, lithe body, and eyes that dance like electricity itself… Jongdae _is_ splendid. “How come I don’t see you like that?” _Divine_.

Baekhyun turns. “If you wanted to, you could. You need only strip away what you _think_ I ought to be.” He glances back to the dais. Jongdae’s attention’s on the lamb—tearing it apart and sectioning the meat into pieces he can eat. “But… I don’t recommend it. You are the type to find more… comfort in my human skin. And once you take it away, it is hard to see me any other way.”

Kyungsoo stares at him, weighs his suggestion, and then looks back to the dais. “Okay,” he says, leaving the mystery to lie a little longer.

They watch the summoning from a removed sense. Kyungsoo can’t hear how Minseok barters, and Baekhyun seems similarly deaf to it. But, it isn’t… boring. No, it’s _too_ important to be boring. It’s just apprenhensive. For Kyungsoo, it is especially so; because, if Minseok fails, he dies.And Kyungsoo will have to see it happen and _know_ it was preventable had they just skipped summoning Jongdae all-together.

And then, whatever invisible wall had kept them from watching the summoning… it falls, and Jongdae looks human once more, offering Minseok a hand to pull him up onto his feet.

Minseok is smiling, gums showing, and _proud_ , when he turns to face them.

Kyungsoo’s anxiety melts away.

Later, they take dinner in Kyungsoo’s lounge—far from prying eyes and crowded tables. The unintended side-effect of this is the silence hanging over them. Jongdae… despite his pact, remains haughty, sharp, and when he looks at Kyungsoo, it’s with barely disguised judgment.

Baekhyun’s not even playing buffer, busy eating what’s been set out on the table, his chewing loud and obnoxious.

Minseok’s similarly no help, glancing back and forth between Jongdae and Kyungsoo—as though he’s at _both_ of their mercy. Perhaps, he sort of _is._

“You’re more docile like this,” Kyungsoo says, unable to keep the cut out of his voice. Baekhyun stops chewing, glancing between them. Jongdae’s lip twitches, his eyebrows rise.

“A tamed dog can still bite,” Jongdae replies, taking a sip of wine. “You should watch your tongue.”

Kyungsoo raises a brow, “You are in my home now,” he warns. “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”

“All this talk of biting~” Baekhyun singsongs. “You’re both so cute when you’re posturing,” he continues, reaching over to tug Jongdae’s earlobe patronizingly. At the look of annoyance it earns him, he cackles, drawing back and resuming his eating. “Get _along_ , won’t you?” he complains around a mouthful. “We’re all working together, aren’t we?”

The trio stares at him, all of them in shared, mild disgust.

“Chew with your mouth closed,” Kyungsoo comments.

“Swallow before you speak,” Jongdae adds.

Minseok snorts. Baekhyun mimics talking with one hand, rolls his eyes and continues to eat just as he had been. Kyungsoo looks away, returning his gaze to Jongdae. The Devil meets him just as proudly, but after a few seconds in which they judge one another, his gaze slides _down_ and away.

So, Kyungsoo stays the Head of House.

“We should talk about our plans,” Kyungsoo says, cutting the slice of meat on his plate and bringing it up to his mouth. Baekhyun’s eyes track the motion and he licks his lips subconciously. Kyungsoo raises a brow, challenging him, and he glances away again.

Minseok clears his throat, “We’ve got to invade, but if we go through Heolmkeep… we meet the bulk of the Oslini Forces.”

“So, take us through the South,” Baekhyun suggests. “We cross the Tonimo and quietly conquer up from the delta. It’s unexpected enough that we can keep it a secret, no?”

Kyungsoo ponders. “It leaves _my_ capital unprotected. If we _can’t_ keep word from reaching Heolmkeep, then the bulk of the Oslini army can simply travel across the river and take my cities from me. With _ease_.”

“Leave Baekhyun to protect your cities,” Jongdae says.

“No.” All three of them say at once. They’ve not said it aloud, but Baekhyun’s the buffer—the one they believe is keeping them alive. Should he leave… even if Jongdae is pacted—he could always trick Minseok into his death. And if he kills Minseok, it frees him to kill Kyungsoo as well.

Jongdae shrugs, but doesn’t argue.

“Leave your army here,” Baekhyun says eventually. Everyone looks at him, but it’s only Jongdae that understands his plan. “Put Chanyeol in charge of your Throne. The Southern approach is going to be the only chance you have of invading—“

“I can’t invade without an army—“

“I’m not saying you’ll have to. Leave your living army here, and allow Jongdae and I to reclaim our divinity here on Earth. Let us _remind_ your people why they worship.”

Kyungsoo holds his gaze. It’s Minseok who chances the question, though. “How do you intend to remind them?”

“We’ll raise an army of our own,” Baekhyun says.

***

There are two stages they must reach before the invasion begins. The first, they’ve already completed—summon Jongdae, and successfully so. Since managing it, they’ve kept him under a wary watch, but… he is, for all intents and purposes, perfectly relaxed. The most venomous he gets is with Minseok, and even then, it’s mere bickering. Most other times, he’s attached to Baekhyun at the hip.

Kyungsoo can’t shake the feeling that there’s… something more, though. That he should be careful.

But, a success is a success. And, with the first stage completed, they get to turn their attention onto the second. Calling the shamans to action. They do not _need_ them, but it’s a great help to have them. Baekhyun weaves beautiful stories of magic used in war—of magic used to heal soldiers, of magic used to decide battles without loss of life. He paints an image of a time when magic trumped all. And now… they’ve forgotten that time.

The coming war won’t be simple, despite their sideways approach to things.

“What should I say to them?” Kyungsoo asks as they ride into the Trading Post. The person in the watchtower has already called out to the others. Attention already clings to them, and hecklers quickly begin to toss their insults at them.

Baekhyun’s eyes rove over the crowd. “You won’t need to say anything?”

“Why’s that—“ Kyungsoo begins to say, and then he sees Jongdae bristling.

Sharp as a knife, Jongdae’s voice cuts through the shouting, “Is this how you greet your gods?” He snaps. With his words, he drops any pretense of humanity, magic crackling around him statically, his skin melting into that skeletal, horned, and veiled god. Immediately, the shamans and the vagabonds who’ve taken to the streets fall silent, an air of _horror_ rising up around them.

Baekhyun conjures up his carved face-mask and dangles it from his fingers—identifying himself as well. “They’re not meant to recognize us like this,” he murmurs, smoothing his hand over Jongdae’s arm. Raising his voice, he greets them. “You’ve no love for Kings, but you best love their gods.” It echoes like a warning.

Jongdae remains… high-strung, energy crackling all around even when he resumes his mortal skin.

Baekhyun takes the time to address those watching properly. “Go gather our worshippers. Gather everyone you know, and bring them to the square. We’ve a request to make of you.” And then, he’s tapping his heels to his horse’s side and continuing his walk into town. Jongdae follows him belatedly, his chin raised proudly, his eyes blazing with anger.

Minseok and Kyungsoo follow after another beat, heads neither raised nor lowered. Merely, neutral. They’re not here to act haughty, but they also aren’t here to grovel.

An hour later sees the largest group of exiles Kyungsoo’s ever seen in his life, and they all stand at the very edge of the square, hesitant to come any closer to the kings, and the gods, in the middle.

Baekhyun regards them curiously, and then beckons to them. “Come closer—you don’t want to offend, now do you?” At that, the square fills up, people in the front sitting in the dirt to allow those behind them to see over their heads. “Your Kings need you.” Somehow, Kyungsoo knows Baekhyun’s not referring to Minseok and him. “Surely, you’ve felt the imbalance. For a time, Dívo massacred here on Earth without the limits of a pact holding his magic at bay. And beyond that, your countries have been at war within themselves.”

“Here in Seva, _you_ were slaughtered, for worshipping us, for living lives that _we_ approved of,” Baekhyun tells them. “And in Oslin, that massacre happened centuries ago, and their _current_ slaughter is one devoted to… lovers and gentle peoples.” Kyungsoo glances at Minseok in time to see him flinch and look away. _Curious_.

“It’s time people worshipped us once more, and it’s time you were recognized for your devotion. So, here’s our… call, if you will. Come with us and reset the balance. Put a King back on his rightful Throne and see your land put back to peace.”

“We don’t wish to serve a King,” Kadira calls out. She’s hard to miss, standing on the edge of the square. “We’re only here to serve you.”

Baekhyun holds her gaze, but it’s Jongdae who speaks. “You will serve a King for now, and when this land is reminded of us, you’ll serve _us_ once more. You’ll teach, you’ll worship, you’ll sacrifice.”

“And we’ll reward you for it,” Baekhyun finishes, voice like candy—decadent and tempting.

Kadira nods. “Then, I am at your service.”

She reminds Kyungsoo of Jihyun. It’s a similar moment, a challenge and a choice. Except, while Jihyun had no wish to accept Kyungsoo’s desire, Kadira _does_ accept. She yields, and with her, so to the other shamans and witches and exiles. Baekhyun grins as he watches, and Jongdae finally loses that bristling ire, letting it melt into affection as more and more exiles pledge themselves to their gods’ cause.

The roots of a tree near them begin to shift and move, drawing the humans’ attention. They watch as the roots become like the edge of a gate, and then, as the ground seems to fall inward, leaving a tunnel in its wake. Mere minutes later, there come hoofbeats echoing up from the dark, and after that, a figure emerges on a horse as black as night.

Yixing.

His axe gleams in the sunlight, as do his eyes as he surveys the crowd.

“This is your General,” Baekhyun says calmly. “You follow his order, his lead. Call him Yixing—he is a Harvester. You will know him when you die, so respect him while you live.”

With that, Baekhyun seemingly washes his hands of the situation, allowing Yixing to greet the people and direct them towards packing what’s needed.

Jongdae reels his horse around slowly and comes to stand next to Kyungsoo and Minseok. “Now, take us to your old battlefield. The one near Sengise,” he says. So, they all leave the Trading Post and gallop the opposite way, back towards Seva and beyond it—until they near Sengise the very next morning.

The sun is still creeping up above the horizon when they come up to the open plain. Some of the defensive mounds still remain. Some of the graves still remain, the churned earth visible still, despite the months that had passed since Oslin stood on Sevan soil.

Baekhyun drops down off of his horse and walks a ways out, Jongdae following him.

It’s now that Kyungsoo realizes what Jongdae’d been suggesting. When he’d said they’d raise an army of their own and to leave the living one to defend the cities.

Baekhyun worms his fingers into the grass. Like a ripple of wind, the tall grass seems to wave. His magic passes through it, coaxing and calling. And for a moment, it is beautiful.

Then, a hand breaks the surface, dirt flying from the hole it’s digging itself free from. It begins to claw at the growth surrounding it, pulling up earth and grass and rocks, and then a few minutes later, its head emerges. By this time, more hands have appeared. They move around frenetically. Some go right to digging themselves free, but others… others flail about in what _looks_ like horror.

Minseok drops off of his horse and heaves into the grass. Kyungsoo swallows the bile in his throat down, watching and _witnessing_ the happenings before him with mounting horror and sadness.

The first corpse to free itself animates only long enough to heave itself out of its grave and kneel next to it. Baekhyun walks close to it and flesh begins to grow back over the skeleton—at least, what flesh had rot away (most of it). Most of the skeletons are like that—skeletons—but some still cling to ribbons of muscle, to the last vestiges of a human appearance.

Jongdae presses the palm of his hand to the first corpse’s forehead, once the flesh has returned, and Kyungsoo watches _life_ come back into his eyes. Not full life, the life you see in a child’s eyes, or in an elders. But some… half-intellect. Something inhuman, but _thinking_ all the same.

Its eyes fix on Kyungsoo’s. It _bows_.

Kyungsoo sucks in a breath, looking away, but he can’t escape it. All around him, even _beneath_ him, men and women—soldiers—are crawling up from the ground, meat growing back over their bones, eyes reforming in their sockets. It’s _terrifying_ , and yet, each time a corpse frees itself, it bows to him.

“They’re still in your service,” Baekhyun calls to him. “You ought to greet them.”

They died for him. He failed them.

“Their duty was to die for you,” Jongdae says, seemingly reading his thoughts. “And they will do it again. Greet them. You are a King, are you not?”

So, Kyungsoo lets his hand down and greets his soldiers, one by one, whispering welcomes under his breath, encouragements and promises. Their regrowing skin is dry, like a corpse. They do not reform to the health of a living human—but remain gaunt and weathered and drained of color. But it is not active decay, and they do not smell. They simply… wait, like sentinels. They’re silent, but they’re _listening_.

When Kyungsoo calls them to their lines and their ranks, they line up, ordering themselves back into the squadrons they were meant to be. There are thousands here, corpses raised from _years_ of war.

The Heartlands between Heolmkeep and Sengise are perfect for farming, ripe and fertile. They are also the most contested land in the history of the two kingdoms. The Heartlands are _graves_ for men defending it, and men attacking it.

Seeing those rows of soldiers, dead made living once more… it gives a new meaning to their fighting. Gives a new hatefulness for it. For Kyungsoo never wants to fight, but he will. Though, looking at this, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever make a plan that doesn’t sicken him. For someone will always die for it. Someone will always go to the grave. A person, not a number.

“Come on, now,” Jongdae beckons, and so they walk farther through the fields, until they reach the place where the Oslini forces had been slaughtered. And here, the army is resurrected again, with Minseok being the one to greet them and call them back to ranks. He is similarly shaken by the exchange, evident in the way his hands shake and his skin has blanched.

But, like Kyungsoo, he does it anyways, regardless of his fears.

An hour later sees them marching home. “Guard the city,” Kyungsoo commands. Minseok relays it to his forces. Like a ripple, the men stop and turn to face outward the gate, each of them assuming a rigid, watchful pose, nearly statue-esque in quality.

Chanyeol waits for them at the gates, eyeing the army of the dead apprehensively. Before he can say anything, Minseok’s dismissing his concerns. “At least your people don’t have to die for a war they didn’t want to fight. They need only protect their home as usual. Nothing beats that, right?”

And Chanyeol can’t argue, because he’s right. Let the dead die again, and let the living keep living.

***

“You’re unnerved,” Baekhyun says later that evening. Minseok and Jongdae are in the guest wing, and Kyungsoo… Kyungsoo is in the gardens trying to shake the events from the morning.

“Is that totally outlandish?” He agrees, smoothing his hands down his thighs. “It’s wrong—dead men fighting for me.”

“Then, they are fighting for me,” Baekhyun remedies, massaging Kyungsoo’s shoulders generously. “And _I_ am fighting for you.” His breath washes over the back of Kyungsoo’s neck. But a beat later, his lips follow it, pressing a soft kiss at Kyungsoo’s nape. “Valor is rewarded. They’ll be given to Junmyeon upon their return to Hell.”

“What is Junmyeon’s realm like?”

Baekhyun shrugs. “Paradise, for a time. It’s like drowning—the elation mere seconds before you die, in which you see everything you have lived for. And then, Junmyeon eats their memories and steals their faces and then, lets Jongdae and I’s magic reinvent it and make it anew.” He presses another kiss to the back of Kyungsoo’s neck. “Junmyeon gives them a second chance.”

Second chances… resurrections and reincarnations. “Am I a second chance?” Kyungsoo asks, curious.

“No… you suffered too much to be a second chance,” Baekhyun says, coaxing Kyungsoo to relax into him, chest against chest, body against body. “Though, if you consider it… perhaps this is your second chance, _Síla_.” He’s right. Kyungsoo is… divine now.

And that reminds him of summoning Jongdae—of seeing Jongdae in all his divinity, but all his beauty as well. “What do you see me like?” He waits as Baekhyun parses what he’s talking about, then feels him grin against his neck—delighted, if a little confused.

“Have you been itching to ask?” Baekhyun wonders.

“You reminded me…” Kyungsoo says. _Reminded me I’m not human,_ he thinks.

Baekhyun understands even though he doesn’t finish his thought. “Most days you look human to me… but there are times when it’s impossible to see you as anything other than divine.”

“What do I look like then?” Kyungsoo asks, curious.

Baekhyun’s hands smooth down his side and around his front, interlacing together and holding the two of them together—pressed close. “You look like yourself. I don’t know how to describe it. You glow—not literally, but… you are sun-kissed. It’s very beautiful.” He nips at Kyungsoo’s skin this time.

Kyungsoo mulls over this, then asks, “What do you look like?”

Again, Baekhyun pauses. “Do you really want to see? Then, look,” and he pulls away, standing up and walking down the garden path. Kyungsoo thinks of what Baekhyun had told him the first time he’d asked. He need only strip away the human skin and—

He doesn’t have any imagination for what Baekhyun _could_ look like, and yet, it seems to work anyways—Baekhyun’s human skin disappearing like an snake sloughs off its skin. And in its place, something… dazzling. Baekhyun had said Kyungsoo was sun-kissed… but Baekhyun… Baekhyun _is_ the Sun.

When he looks over his shoulder, his eyes are a bright gold. Gold veins ripple down his skin, glinting in the beacon of light that seems to simply weave around him—a living, active halo of light, constantly warping and moving.

Kyungsoo looks into the pool of water he’d been sitting by. He stands and he imagines peeling away _his_ human skin.

In the reflection… he’s still himself. He understands what Baekhyun had meant in saying that. But, there is something more. A smoother emanation of light—a dimmer halo that surrounds him.

“You’ll grow to look more like Jongdae and I in time,” Baekhyun says, calling Kyungsoo’s attention up from his reflection. “Right now, you are still a young god. You have to give yourself time to become more comfortable with divinity than you ever were with humanity.”

Kyungsoo glances back down at his reflection. Baekhyun says nothing, allowing him to observe himself, to take in his divinity, and all the while, he watches with a soft smile on his face, his eyebrows knit just-so—affection bleeding from his expression. Affection that only grows when Kyungsoo finally steps away from the pool and follows him out through the garden.

Somewhere along the way, Kyungsoo blinks, and Baekhyun looks human once more.

“I like you better like this,” he murmurs, once they’ve made their way back to his bedroom. “Human.”

“Why’s that?” Baekhyun wonders, raising a brow. He sits on the edge of Kyungsoo’s bed and undoes the clasp of his fancy, _mortal-made_ tunic, and lets it fall open. Kyungsoo pushes it off his shoulders, gentle—curious.

“You feel more vulnerable,” Kyungsoo says, under his breath and quiet. He discards Baekhyun’s shirt completely, casting it onto the floor. It leaves Baekhyun’s chest naked and exposed—displays very _human_ scars and goosebumps.

He places a knee on the edge of the bed and pushes Baekhyun to lay back, pressing a kiss to his sternum once Baekhyun settles back against the mattress. Presses another kiss lower the next time, and lower, and lower. Baekhyun’s quiet—sighing and sucking in his breath from time to time. But his hands are encouraging. They sink into Kyungsoo’s hair—petting and scratching. They smooth over his shoulders and neck, his jaw and cheekbones. They’re loving, a voice on their own, so affectionate, so gentle.

“And that’s a good thing?” Baekhyun wonders, head falling back with a gasp. “You like me vulnerable?”

“I like when you trust me,” Kyungsoo remedies, pausing to pull Baekhyun’s pants away and to strip off his own clothes. Baekhyun takes the respite to crawl further onto the bed, flopping onto his stomach carefully, propping his head on his arms. He arches ever so slightly—begging for compliments, for praise. And Kyungsoo’s not a talker, but when he has Baekhyun like this… he can’t stop the praises from falling from his lips. “You’re beautiful like this. So good for _me_ ,” as he reaches for the oil to prep Baekhyun with.

And Baekhyun moans with it all, agreeing wordlessly.

The first touch of Kyungsoo’s fingers to his rim has his body twitching, his hips jerking forward. “It’s been… a while,” he murmurs. “Since I’ve… in this body at least,” he reveals, moaning when Kyungsoo’s finger slides past his rim, sliding along his walls. Sweat beads at the small of his back, at the junction of his shoulders. He’s a picture like this—gorgeously mortal.

He comes with Kyungsoo’s second finger, untouched and sighing, riding out the aftershocks in short, stuttering thrusts against the mattress. Kyungsoo follows the motion, opening him up all the while, waiting for the moment Baekhyun pushes him away due to oversensitivity. But, it never comes. Baekhyun takes all Kyungsoo has to give and more—lazy and languid, now, but not sated.

“You’re so quiet,” Baekhyun mumbles.

“Is that a bad thing?” Kyungsoo wonders. “You make me speechless,” he says next, grinning.

Baekhyun rolls his eyes, but Kyungsoo can see that he’s pleased. “I’m prepared enough,” he says. “Fuck me, already.” And he begins to say something else, but Kyungsoo’s pressing the head of his cock to his hole and sliding forward just a moment later. Whatever Baekhyun had meant to say falls away, a moan slipping from his chest. His eyes flutter shut, and his lips part just slightly.

Beautiful. He’s beautiful.

Kyungsoo sighs, his hands gripping Baekhyun’s hips far too roughly, but the moment he notices, his fingers loosen and go back to that gentle, secure hold. “You’re gorgeous,” he tells Baekhyun.

“Not more than you,” Baekhyun says, reaching back to cup Kyungsoo’s face. “Pretty eyes, pretty lips, pretty face,” he coos, rolling his hips back, “Nice cock, too.”

Kyungsoo snorts, incredulous and pulls back, thrusts slow and dragging. Baekhyun whimpers encouragements, light jokes, endearments. He’s sweet like this—relaxed and willing and so, so trusting.

Unbidden, Kyungsoo thinks of what he’s like with Jongdae—if he’s just as languid or if he’s more challenging, more goading, more passionate. For a brief flash… Kyungsoo wonders what _Jongdae_ would be like, what _Minseok_ would be like.

Baekhyun clenches around him, gasping when his cock runs over his prostate. “Again,” he begs, hands clenching in the blankets. “Harder.”

Kyungsoo delivers, for what else is there to do? Baekhyun’s tight and hot around him. He’s so alive, so willing. It’s hard to even consider _not_ giving him what he wants. He curls over Baekhyun’s back, kissing the space between his shoulders, sucking a mark into his neck, and all the while Baekhyun goads him on.

Baekhyun comes a second time, eyes squeezing shut and breath catching in his chest. The fluttering of his hole has Kyungsoo coming as well, gasping, hips stuttering forwards, shallow and slowing.

He lets out a breath, then smiles against Baekhyun’s flesh. A hand sinks into his hair indulgently, gentle and soothing. When Baekhyun speaks again, the language isn’t one Kyungsoo knows, but it _feels_ loving, it _feels_ endearing, it feels _proud_.

He flops onto his side, letting Baekhyun crawl out of the bed, his legs shaking, to fetch a washcloth. Baekhyun returns and wipes them both down, cleaning them of sweat.

“Are you afraid?” Baekhyun asks aloud, some minutes later, as he pulls Kyungsoo to rest at his side.

“Why do you ask?” Kyungsoo wonders, cocking his head.

Baekhyun hums, “Just seem a little impulsive, that’s all,” he murmurs, brushing Kyungsoo’s hair away from his face. “Not that I mind. I’m only curious.”

Kyungsoo thinks on it, quiet for a few minutes. “I’m afraid we’ll fail, and that I’ll come back to a city whose trust in me has waned.”

Baekhyun nods, and offers nothing more than a kiss—soothing and sweet, but void of any answers.

***

A week later sees them at the Mouth of the Tonimo. As Minseok relates, it is near the place where Baekhyun’s Gate in Zu’a lets out. The Devils are outside of the tent, wrestling—Baekhyun’s great hound fighting Jongdae’s sleek mountain lion. Inside the tent, Minseok and Kyungsoo are preparing their first battle—if they can even call it that.

“Erilan is a small village network. Three or four towns all linked by close trade. Farmlands for the most part, though we don’t have the same advanced water-locking system you have in Sengise. The floods here make the growing season short, and accounts for a great loss of crop,” Minseok tells him, sounding like a textbook. He probably hasn’t ever _been_ to Erilan in person, if Kyungsoo had to guess. The Oslini Royal Family was quite famously reclusive.

Kyungsoo traces their route into the farmland with a finger. “We don’t have to worry about our soldiers committing crimes against civilians. They are… stoic.” He really means to say _dead_ , but he can’t quite spit it out. It’s unnerving enough camping in the middle of thousands of silent men—let alone dead men. “We shouldn’t raze the fields, either. The flood season is still coming. If we destroy these crops, what little the people could have harvested is lost. They’ll starve over the winter.”

Minseok nods, letting out a sigh of relief. Kyungsoo catches it.

“We’re not enemies. I don’t want your people to die. You don’t need to petition me for their lives.”

“I know that,” Minseok says immediately, “though I’m unused to it. I’m not someone with many allies.” He lets his words hang in the air.

Kyungsoo chooses not to explore it, looking back to the map. “Do you know what the defenses are like? If any?”

Minseok hums, grateful that he doesn’t have to explain himself. “There are none,” he says. “The floods make forts too expensive to build. The towns cannot even put up walls. Erilan will fold under us, the only thing we need to worry about is keeping people from running North with the news of it.”

“I can send Baekhyun to the north-side of the villages, with orders to prevent any messengers from reaching the next town over,” Kyungsoo says, though it would be nice _not_ to have to take runners into account. Baekhyun’s method of prevention is… a gory one.

“Baekhyun!” Kyungsoo calls, loud enough that the Devils can hear him over their games. The growling and scuffling stops, and a minute later, the tent flap opens and both demons let themselves inside. Baekhyun’s attentive—Jongdae pretends as though he’s not. “I’m sending you to the northside of the towns. See that no one is able to run to the next town over with warning of the attack.”

Baekhyun hums in acknowledgement and turns, gripping Jongdae’s wrist and pulling him close.

Kyungsoo’s already looking back at Minseok, ready to continue planning—but Minseok’s eyes are fixed on Baekhyun and Jongdae, only flitting over to Kyungsoo after he hears the wet sound of their lips parting. Kyungsoo raises a brow. Minseok blushes and focuses back on the map, pointing out one of the few villages. “This is the one we should take first. It’s the largest and most protected from the floods, being on a hill. It’s where the extra grain is stored—not that there’s much. We control this village and we control the harvest.”

Kyungsoo nods, and turns to the silent man in the room. Yixing, who sits so quietly that he may as well not be present. “You will take part of my army and a group of shamans and take the village to the west of this one,” he points out the paths on the map.

Yixing stands up to survey it, then agrees with a sharp tilt of his head. “After we’ve taken it?”

“Leave a standing army there to keep order,” Kyungsoo says.

Minseok glances Jongdae’s way, “Can you spell them to maintain law?” He asks.

Jongdae inclines his head ever so slightly. “If that’s what you wish of them, but they will maintain the law without regard for nuance.” It’s a warning. If a child steals bread because they are starving, and are caught, there will be no leniency—the child will lose their hand.

Minseok sighs, “Spell them to do so. If we can keep the forward momentum, we won’t have to keep the towns occupied for long. We’ll just have to accept the losses.”

Kyungsoo agrees, though he wishes he didn’t have to. “Jongdae will stay with us for the pointe push. Yixing, once the army has reached a point of order in your town, you’ll come back to the center and reform with our forces.” He nods. “Go now, you have a longer march and we wish to hit each of these at relatively the same time.”

Yixing leaves the tent. Kyungsoo looks back to Minseok. “I’m going to take the village closest to the river, in the near east. I will take my forces with me and, after conquering, return to the middle. You have the majority of men, though, and you are the one conquering the primary town.”

“I understand,” Minseok says. “Be careful of the riverside village, though. It has a reputation for magic—though my father persecuted them ruthlessly. It may hide beasts you’re unprepared for.”

“I’ll watch for them,” Kyungsoo says and leaves the tent.

Minseok and Jongdae follow him, Jongdae immediately moving along the ranks of men, his hands sparkling with electricity, tongue curling around foreign words and spells. The difference in command isn’t discernable, but Kyungsoo trusts that Jongdae will follow Minseok’s order.

He calls out to his soldiers, breaking them from the mixed ranks alongside the Oslini men. Then, he vaults up into his horse’s saddle and leads them away, towards the shallow part of the river, through which they’ll cross.

He feels naked without Baekhyun at his side, having become so used to having the Devil around when going into battle—if he can even call this a battle. It’s more like a deluge, a flood in and of itself. The villages have no defenses, Kyungsoo’s army will march right in, without a doubt.

The water of the river is cold and unforgiving, swirling around his horse’s chest and into Kyungsoo’s boots. All around him, the undead army walks unhindered by the cold torrent. They’re impassive, life without liveliness. And when they emerge on the opposite bank, they simply continue to march—they need no rest, need no collecting. They simply _go_.

Kyungsoo follows them somewhat dumbfounded, his eyes focused beyond them, on the foreign horizon.

It’s not long—perhaps only an hour—before the eastern village of Erilan is visible. It has no name—is merely a part of the larger network—but… it has a watchtower. By the time whoever was meant to be manning it looks out, though, roused from sleep by a sense of dread, Kyungsoo’s army is already at their doors.

It seems so simple, Kyungsoo forgets about Minseok’s warning.

Forgets until he cannot—a stringing, whipping sort of spell zinging into his body and knocking him from his horse. He gasps as he hits the ground, reaching for his sword, and looks to where the spell had come from. A witch stands with his hands raised, a snarling frown on his face. Next to him, a young girl takes off running.

For help. She’s going to run for help.

Kyungsoo feels a flash of fear. He knows what waits out in the fields north of her. He _knows_ if she goes, she will die in a mess of blood and gut. “Wait!” He yells, gasping out a warning. His lungs scream, still winded from his fall. A spell crashes into him once more and by the time he’s able to find his feet again, the girl is gone, leaving behind her father to deal with.

The soldiers have already flooded the village, apprehending those that attempt to fight and standing like sentinels outside of the doors of those that don’t.

Kyungsoo draws his sword, but also holds out a hand warningly, his gaze remaining focused on the witch. “Surrender. I don’t want to kill you.”

The man weaves another spell between his fingers and releases it, the light spiraling towards Kyungsoo. Who catches it in the palm of his hand now that he’s prepared. He crushes the magic between his fingers and tries again. “Please, surrender. If you do so now, I may be able to save your daughter.”

“She’s already gone—she’s quick-footed,” the man hisses.

Kyungsoo shakes his head. “There is a Devil out there under orders. Orders to keep anyone from reaching the next town over. He will slaughter her.” Which gives the man’s pause. Kyungsoo continues. “No matter how quick she is, he is quicker. Don’t let her die because you’re too proud to surrender.”

The man lowers his hands and Kyungsoo immediately sheathes his sword, swinging back into his saddle. He offers the man a hand, which he takes, his fear of Kyungsoo suddenly melting into fear for his daughter. Then, they are racing through the streets in the direction she had run. All around them, the soldiers keep order amongst the people. Even those that had scuffled have now subdued their aggressors. A dead man cannot die again, after all, and the people of the village cede once they realize the magic at play here.

Kyungsoo’s horse breaks back out into fields. The girl is visible now.

“Iset!” The father yells. His voice is swallowed by the wind and hoofbeats. Is swallowed by the hungry howl on the horizon.

Kyungsoo sees Baekhyun, judges the distance from the girl to him. They’ll meet at the same time, but Baekhyun will kill her with ease—especially like this, in the body of his great hound.

So, Kyungsoo leaps from the horse, calling up magic he’s never desired to wield before, calling up a vision of a beast. And his skin ribbons from his body, making way for great paws and claws. A _bear_ , or something akin to it, rushing through the field. His huffs, panting, his jaws opened wide in preparation.

He collides with Baekhyun just as the hound leaps for the girl—throwing him off course and into the dirt. Both of their skins melt into that of their human forms, but Baekhyun is shocked and _blazing_ with fury. “What in the hells are you doing?!” He snarls.

“Her father surrendered, and she’s just a—“

Baekhyun points and Kyungsoo’s words fall away. The man has continued on Kyungsoo’s horse, has grabbed his daughter and continued galloping. Galloping towards town. Kyungsoo feels his accomplishment bleed away. Feels foolish, even as Baekhyun twists back into his hound and goes racing after them.

Feels empty as Baekhyun tears them from the saddle and rips them apart, flesh and blood torn apart, bones crushed, lives lost.

He walks back to the village.

***

An evening later sees them capturing Fel, the next, nearest town. This time, when people dash for an escape, Kyungsoo does not try and stop them, does not try and warn them. When he hears the howl of Baekhyun’s hound, he does nothing other than pretend as though he hadn’t.

“You’ve been quiet since Erilan,” Minseok comments, spreading out the map for their next planned assault. “What happened there?”

Kyungsoo shakes his head, “I forgot that not everyone is inclined towards honesty. I tried to be merciful and was made to look like a fool for doing so.” He shrugs his shoulders and looks back at the map. “The next city is Heolmkeep. We can still approach largely unopposed, but they will see us coming and have a chance to fortify. We have to wait here, let word get to Chanyeol.”

“Who is bringing it?”

“Yixing will.”

Minseok nods, “How long will we stay here?”

“You are the King of this land,” Kyungsoo says. “How long do we have before Heolmkeep? If we must, we start marching tonight—Yixing can get word to Chanyeol quick enough, and he doesn’t even have to march. My soldiers already hold a defensive line on our side of the Tonimo.”

“How long do _you_ need to rest? The men will march. They are dead. You and I are not,” Minseok says.

Kyungsoo shakes his head. He’s not tired. He is a God, and since commanding his magic, he’s started to feel more like it. “How long do you need?” He asks instead, flipping the question. “I am ready to march whenever. I am not tired.”

Minseok regards him carefully. “We’ll rest tonight, then, and start marching tomorrow. We should arrive at Heolmkeep by nightfall in two days.”

Kyungsoo nods and turns, ready to leave and make his way to his personal tent. Minseok catches his wrist. “Come with me. You’re not… yourself.” He grabs a lantern and leads Kyungsoo out of the tent to the outside of the town, back towards the Tonimo. They stop at a shallow, slow-moving part of the river, though still cold—especially since nightfall. Minseok sets the lantern down, illuminating the water near the bank, and begins stripping off his clothes, laying them out on a nearby rock.

“Bathing is your manner of comfort?” Kyungsoo asks, though his hands begin to unlace his shirt, pants, and boots.

“It’s forcing someone to be vulnerable with you,” Minseok says with a smile on his face. “Physical vulnerability helps with emotional vulnerability.”

“If you say so,” Kyungsoo murmurs, wading into the water. Goosebumps erupt across his flesh, but the cold isn’t nearly as biting as it could be, especially once he puts his magic to work willing it away. Minseok watches him with barely concealed surprise as he sinks in the water.

“You’ve changed, haven’t you?” He asks, wading in—much slower than Kyungsoo, much more sensitive to the temperature. He carries with him a bar of soap—procured from where, Kyungsoo doesn’t know. Must have grabbed it when he grabbed the lantern.

Kyungsoo hums, “How so?”

“Since Hell. You’ve changed.” Minseok soaps up his hands and sets the bar on a stone, continuing over to Kyungsoo. He pauses, waits for Kyungsoo to nod in permission, then begins to work the suds over Kyungsoo’s skin, massaging, soothing. It reminds him of the time _Baekhyun_ had bathed Kyungsoo. There _is_ intimacy in this. There _is_ vulnerability. “What happened?”

“I woke up and I wasn’t myself,” Kyungsoo says seriously. “But I’m not ready to be… something I’m not.”

Minseok’s quiet. “Why did what happened in Erilan bother you so much?” He asks, changing tracks. Or, maybe not.

Because, when Kyungsoo gets to the root of it, he’d put his trust in strangers trying to save them from the fate of something more powerful, more dangerous than he. Except that… Baekhyun _isn’t_ more powerful than him. They are equal now. What separates Kyungsoo from Baekhyun when they are both Devils? Kyungsoo is Baekhyun’s champion—is his honesty, his devotion, his loyalty. But, if Kyungsoo shares those qualities, Baekhyun embodies them.

And he’d still strewn the guts of innocents across the fields. “I had the power to save two people and I couldn’t.”

“They betrayed you,” Minseok says, gleaning from Kyungsoo’s earlier comment. “I assume Baekhyun was at play?”

“How do you know?”

“You flinch at his howl. He slaughtered the people you were trying to save. But, if you warned them, you did all that you could.”

“I could have been merciful. I could have called Baekhyun back. I _have_ the power to do so.”

Minseok shrugs, “If you had been merciful, we may have marched here to Fel and found soldiers waiting for us. The dead cannot die again, but the living can. We’ve conquered this far without great loss of life. That is a mercy,” he says. “Besides, if you are so troubled by what happened, that should solve your other concerns. Clearly you are still the same Kyungsoo.”

Kyungsoo pauses. “Perhaps,” he says eventually, nearly reeling. Perhaps he _is_ the same Kyungsoo, despite the magic, despite the divinity.

“Are you going to forgive Baekhyun?”

“Of course,” Kyungsoo says. “He was following orders. And, we already weighed the gravity of our choice to have him hunt down any runners.”

“If you can forgive the killer,” Minseok says, “then you may as well forgive yourself. It’s no good feeling guilty for something you tried to stop.” He turns around, offering his back to Kyungsoo.

With a smile, Kyungsoo begins to clean him, rubbing away grit and tension. They’re both quiet now, relaxed for the most part. Kyungsoo still doesn’t feel great, but… he’ll let time run its course. He’ll not always feel guilty, especially now that he’s talked about it.

Minseok’s back holds his attention anyways. It has deep scars. Scars Kyungsoo’s never noticed before. Not the crescent, blade-made scar like Kyungsoo bears, but striking scars, like from a whip or switch. Scars meant to punish, not to kill. Kyungsoo’s fingers ghost over them, and he hears the sharp intake of Minseok’s breath. “What are these from?” He chances to ask.

“When I rebelled,” Minseok murmurs. Kyungsoo’s willing to let it lie, but Minseok continues a few minutes later, when Kyungsoo’s bringing water up in his cupped hands to rinse Minseok off. “It’s illegal, for men to lay with men, and likewise for women.” He’s quiet. “In the villages and, even in the city, you can get away with it so long as you are discreet. Even nobles can manage it sometimes.”

Kyungsoo squeezes his shoulder, offering reassurance.

“I thought that, if I was discreet, my family would turn a blind eye.” Minseok’s hand trails aimlessly in the water. He’s lost in his memories. “They killed him.”

“I’m sorry,” Kyungsoo offers. He knows what it is like to lose people you love—especially to needless laws. His brother was killed for expressing discontent with the Crown. His mother executed for being the addressee of his letters. Kyungsoo knows, and he hurts too. “At least, you will bring about a change in law,” he says quietly. “Keep the other lovers from suffering the same fate yours did.”

Minseok hums. “I’m still afraid of falling in love. Look at me, without a Throne. Imagine I had left a lover in the Capital. They’d have been killed by now.”

Kyungsoo nods, “But, you did not. And now, we are conquering your Throne once more. If our plans for peace work, then you will not need to fear that end.”

“I’m afraid I’ll never love you,” Minseok says, words breathed out in a whisper. Because their peace is a marriage. Political, but a marriage all the same.

Kyungsoo shrugs, “You don’t need to. I’ll not judge if you take a consort. I have Baekhyun anyways,” he says. “All the same, my country does not have laws against homosexuality. You don’t need to condemn yourself, because we’ll not condemn you.” He finishes rinsing Minseok off. “But, I’d be hesitant to think you’ll never love me. I think we both have qualities the other can… admire.”

Minseok glances at him, but Kyungsoo’s already returning to the riverbank. “We should get to rest, Minseok, we’re conquering Heolmkeep in a day or so.”

***

He wakes in the middle of the night to the sound of laughter—Baekhyun and Jongdae, returning to the tent. Minseok sleeps at one end of the tent, Kyungsoo at the other, but the two Devils don’t often come back.

When he opens his eyes, he sees them framed in the light of the moon, hands holding the tent flaps back, but lips joined, near fleetingly. They part, but only just, letting the tent flaps fall back into place. In the dark, it’s hard to see them, but Kyungsoo can hear them whispering to one another in their melodic, ancient language.

His gaze flits past them and he’s shocked to see _Minseok_ is also awake, blearily blinking away sleep. Minseok doesn’t notice him,but catches sight of the two Devils. He freezes, enraptured by them. And Kyungsoo watches, curious about _him_.

Jongdae sits in a chair near Minseok’s bed, casting him a wary glance, and Baekhyun kneels at his feet. It’s not lewd, but it’s a devoted pose, one of submission and of affection. Baekhyun runs his hands up Jongdae’s calves, massage at his thighs, but they never explore further, clearly too aware of Minseok’s presence.

Then, Baekhyun’s looking around, his gaze falling on Kyungsoo’s, and he preens—letting out a recognizable sigh of delight. Which, of course, brings the other eyes in the room over to him. Kyungsoo pauses, caught, and blinks. “You don’t normally come back to the tent,” he says quietly.

“No,” Jongdae says, regarding him. “Baekhyun’s felt… starved of affection, though.”

“It’s only been a day,” Kyungsoo says, instantly sensing the accusation.

“He gets attached,” Jongdae murmurs. “Needed the proximity, and I’ve missed _him_. So, here we are.” It’s hard to remember, sometimes, that Jongdae is apart from Baekhyun whenever Kyungsoo is with him. Kyungsoo is the Other, who pulls away Baekhyun’s attention and capitalizes on it.

“You’re not here for Minseok?” Kyungsoo chances, casting Minseok a cursory glance before looking back at Jongdae, eager to see if there’s any change of countenance. They’ve had plenty of time on their lonesome, there’s a chance something has developed.

Jongdae cocks his head, nearly curious, mostly amused. “Minseok-ah is afraid of me still. I think he’s in denial.”

Baekhyun perches his head on Jongdae’s thigh. He’s beautiful like that—lax and worshipping. He and Jongdae simply click. Minseok obviously thinks so too, if the way his gaze lingers on them is any indication.

“In denial of what?” Minseok asks.

“Our sameness,” Jongdae answers easily. He leans forward now, keeping a hand on Baekhyun’s head so as not to disrupt him with the movement. His other hand, though, reaches out and meets Minseok’s jaw, thumbing over it. “I respect you, Minseok. Why do you pretend not to respect me?”

Kyungsoo thinks back to when he told Minseok love and respect were one in the same.

Minseok remembers it as well, eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment. When they open, they’re… frightened in an apprehensive sort of way. “I don’t pretend. I respect you,” he says quietly.

Jongdae arches a brow, surprised. “Is that so?”

Minseok nods, and suddenly Kyungsoo feels like an outsider. Like he _shouldn’t_ be bearing witness to whatever’s going on between the other king and devil. Jongdae clearly feels the same. “Come on, let’s go… chat,” he invites Minseok, offering him a hand and standing. Baekhyun falls away from him reluctantly, his gaze following the two of them out of the tent. Then, he’s turning to Kyungsoo and crawling over to his bed pallet.

“Could you love them?” He breathes, pressing a kiss to the back of Kyungsoo’s hand. Again, Kyungsoo’s struck by his mannerism. They’re worshipping mannerisms. Those of a devotee to a god. “Both of them?” Because he already knows Kyungsoo can love Minseok. It’s obvious, the respect he has for the other man. It’s obvious, the vulnerability he’s able to show him. Kyungsoo wonders if Baekhyun had seen them in the river.

“Jongdae’s so sharp,” Kyungsoo murmurs. It’s not a concrete answer, and Baekhyun knows it.

“He is like glass,” Baekhyun agrees. “Malleable under the right conditions.” He smoothes a hand up Kyungsoo’s arm and around the back of his neck, warm and affectionate. “He is the marriage of everything. Body, mind, and soul. He’s _loyal_ , too. Selfish at times, but loyal in the end.”

Kyungsoo hums and pulls Baekhyun closer, until he’s settling atop of him. “I’ll consider him,” Kyungsoo says.

“You will love him,” Baekhyun predicts, though it sounds more like a promise.

***

They act as though nothing happened, and continue on their way. Yixing returns halfway to Heolmkeep with news that Chanyeol has warned the men on the line. Kyungsoo’s been directed to give a signal—fire on the banks—and, should they see it, they will launch an offensive from the Sevan side of the Tonimo. But, other than that, Minseok takes head for the battle. Kyungsoo plays quietly with his tactics, but lets Minseok reason things out. Now that his army is smaller, Minseok shows more care, more conscientiousness. Back when he’d fought Kyungsoo, he had been lazy and sure of his victory.

Now he can be sure of nothing and it makes him a better General for it.

They round the top of a hill and now, Heolmkeep is visible—formidable and dreary. It looks as Kyungsoo remembers it, though the bridge lays in two separate halves, ruins in the river at the bottom.

They hear the toll of the bells, a warning to those inside the fortress to go indoors, or, if they are soldiers, to ready their weapons.

Minseok’s army, Kyungsoo with him, is like the tide, though. Powerful and unrelenting. The undead march over the hill and towards the gates. Even when the first volley of arrows come down, the soldiers continue forwards. Kyungsoo rides to the river, where there is driftwood, and sets it alight with a torch. After which, he holds the flaming stick high above his head, higher than the bonfire.

That is when Heolmkeep understands that it is under attack from two sides.

Kyungsoo watches the men rotate atop the walls in order to account for the change of tactics. He also watches as the small-gates open and soldiers rush out to _meet_ them in the field.

Baekhyun and Jongdae sit astride horses at Kyungsoo and Minseok’s side, watching the battle progress. Baekhyun hums with energy, a though _he_ were the one frothing at the bit, not his horse. Kyungsoo knows what he wants—he wants blood and guts. He is Kabé, the Cannibal, with his insatiable hunger for flesh, for energy.

“Go feast. Listen for my call, though,” Kyungsoo allows him. Baekhyun doesn’t waste a second, vaulting off of his horse and taking on his canine paws and jaws. He disappears into the ranks of the dead, racing for the living soldiers fighting near the walls.

Minseok watches Baekhyun run, then looks to Jongdae—but Jongdae isn’t as inclined towards random violence. He has no need to satiate. So, he remains alongside them both, calm and collected.

“They aren’t surrendering,” Minseok says after a few minutes. The men at the walls are fighting the dead, but they fight valiantly and to the death. Even with Jongdae’s magic raising _them_ up from their graves and animating them against the fortress they had once defended… they are still fighting fearlessly.

Kyungsoo shakes his head, dumbfounded. “No, they aren’t,” he echoes in agreement.

Jongdae watches impassively. “You promised me worship, Minseok. You promised that these people would _know_ me again. Let me show them what a god _is_.”

Kyungsoo knows Minseok’s pride. Knows that he wanted to conquer Heolmkeep due to _his_ tactics because he wanted to prove himself a rightful king. But, right now, it looks as though Heolmkeep will sooner fight to the last man than surrender and save lives.

“Show them, then,” Minseok allows.

Jongdae drops down from his horse and begins walking through the ranks of the dead. His back splits open into ribbons of flesh, and like a cicada crawling from its shell, his _divine_ , veiled body rises up, covered in gore and tall, towering over the masses of undead. He raises his head, his crown of antlers and bells and hooves and bone, and regards Heolmkeep appraisingly.

Then, he walks to the tower above the gate and he tears it down, bringing rubble falling to the ground, the gate creaking and groaning and falling into the dirt.

The battle lulls as the soldiers pause and watch a _titan_ walk into their city.

Heolmkeep is famed for being an old capital, and, as such, bears home to a large, pinnacle of a castle.

Jongdae tears that castle down, and, in the rubble, he raises up a fortress of diamond. A fortress that glints off of the moon. A fortress emblazoned with the characters of his divine name—elegant and powerful. Jongdae climbs over the walls of it, and suddenly, what had appeared to be a fortress looks instead like a temple.

Baekhyun takes on his godly form, though this is more feral, with the body of a man but the head of a hound—or… something like it. It _roars_ , commanding the attention of all those humans on the field, and then, looks to Minseok and Kyungsoo both.

The undead part in two, leaving a path for both Kings to walk forwards. And they do so, slowly, apprehensively, as they approach the fallen gate, where Heolmkeep’s defenders still stand. The men raise their swords as the Kings near, but neither Minseok nor Kyungsoo draw their own.

“Surrender Heolmkeep to your King,” Minseok says, reining his horse to a halt. His voice is low, but firm. “Or… continue to fight. But you will die to our Gods.”

One of Heolmkeep’s men breaks ranks and rushes towards Minseok. Kyungsoo draws his sword with practiced swiftness and cuts him down before he can even threaten Minseok. Again, silence falls on the battlefield.

Then, Baekhyun’s howl rings aloud again. It’s responded to by a singsong sort of whistle—loud and sharp. Heolmkeep’s defenders glance back where the Gods stand behind them, and then, at the undead army before them.

And they throw down their swords.

Minseok rides into Heolmkeep victorious, Kyungsoo following behind him, regarding the city with new eyes. It has been so long since Kyungsoo has _seen_ the inside of Heolmkeep. Oslin has head this side of the bridge for so long. “Kabé!” Kyungsoo calls out. “Repair the bridge.”

Baekhyun’s titan disappears behind buildings, walking his way towards the bridge. Like a whistle in the night, Dívo follows him—ghostly and wraith-like.

Kyungsoo returns his attention to the city. It’s hardly even familiar. What little remains of the Sevan architecture is old and derelict. Most has been built over in a gothic, brutal sort of style with concrete and stone. Part of Kyungsoo’s heart aches, but then again… this city isn’t his home and never will be.

Judging by the diamond temple in the distance, though, this may become Jongdae and Baekhyun’s worldly abode.

“Now, all that’s left is Oslin itself,” Kyungsoo remarks.

Minseok nods, swallowing. It won’t be easy‚ not like Heolmkeep was. They will not surrender in Oslin, nor will Minseok be given the chance to sit at the back of his army and command. In Oslin, he _does_ have to prove himself. And he’ll only do that battling at the pointe.

***

They don’t stay in Heolmkeep, immediately moving onwards, skirting the Wailing Range and eventually setting up camp in the middle of the hills. On the horizon, they can see Oslin’s walls. Can also see the fires of forward encampments, where Oslin’s deployed soldiers to try and prevent the Sevan forces from moving any further forward.

Kyungsoo’s never been so far north, so far west. He’s never seen mountains like this up close. Has never seen hills of this height and frequency. Has never seen the spire of a palace meet with the clouds. And yet, here he is, looking out upon it and feeling… insignificant, feeling… small. No wonder the Oslini rulers have always been arrogant and warmongering. If Kyungsoo lived so close to the heavens, he might chance thinking that he is a god as well.

His magic flickers, as though to remind him that he _is_ a god—with a palace touching the sky… or not.

“You can see why I want it back, I imagine,” Minseok says, climbing his way up the hill.

Kyungsoo hums, “It’s your home. Anyone would want it back.” Kyungsoo would never trade Seva for this place though. There’s something barren about Oslin, something old and repressed. Kyungsoo’s not fond of it, never intends to be. “I’m more inclined to the warmer weather down south.”

Minseok smiles and finally makes his way up to where Kyungsoo’s stood, though he sits down amongst the tufts of grass. Kyungsoo follows him, folding his legs under himself and settling onto the ground. He feels better like this, literally and figuratively more grounded.

“I don’t know how I’m going to win it back,” Minseok says.

“With an army.”

Minseok snorts, “No, I mean. Even if I manage to break its defenses… even though I _was_ King… I’m returning like a foreign invader. They will slaughter me at first chance.”

“Then you can’t allow them to,” Kyungsoo says. “You are steadfast _and_ you have a Devil at your side. It won’t be so easy for them.”

Minseok shakes his head as though he doesn’t quite agree. “At least, if they kill me soon after, you will control Heolmkeep and the Delta. You will have your peace regardless of whether or not I live or die.” He pulls at the tufts of grass, thoughtful. “You swear you won’t betray me?”

“I’m beyond that point,” Kyungsoo says easily, knowing Minseok’s distrust is born of a life lived where he could not trust _anyone_ , much less someone who was first his enemy. “I am the King who never wished to be king. Had Chanyeol wanted to keep my throne, he could have. It’s not my interest.” He looks out at Oslin. “Why the sudden doom?”

Minseok shrugs, “Jongdae is the god of life.” He draws circles in the dirt, seemingly trying to decide what to say. Kyungsoo waits patiently. “When I summoned him, he gloated over me, accepted my pact because it would not last. I guess, I fear that he means I will die soon.”

“Time passes quickly to the Devils,” Kyungsoo soothes. “What could feel soon to them could be a lifetime for someone like you. I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Besides, Jongdae is… fond of you now, isn’t he?”

Minseok nods. “He is.”

“Then don’t be afraid.”


	6. Chapter 6

Oslin looms.

Kyungsoo’s horse walks at the back of the march. Baekhyun shadows him, comfortable and relaxed. Energy still zips around them, but it’s muted and tired. Kyungsoo knows he and Jongdae had spent much of their time between Heolmkeep and here together, with few interactions with either of the Kings.

“Minseok said Jongdae prophesied he would die soon, is that true?” Kyungsoo asks, unable to help himself.

Baekhyun casts him a sideways glance. “Keyword—Jongdae. Why would I know anything about that?” He says, dodging the question entirely.

Kyungsoo catches it though, and cocks his head curiously. “You are the God of Time, of Death. You would know. And you do know something. I’m not a fool.”

Baekhyun opens his mouth as though to disagree, then snaps it shut at the glare Kyungsoo shoots his way. “Everyone has a destiny,” Baekhyun says very calmly. “It’s in the nature of your birth, your upbringing.” He chooses his words carefully. “Those destinies are like… iron. Steadfast and unflinching in many scenarios, but always capable of melting down and becoming something new. Always capable of shattering and repurposing.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Nothing is definite, only… likely.”

“Then, Jongdae was referring to Minseok’s destiny. What is it?”

“Humans have no right knowing—“

“I am a God by your will,” Kyungsoo states curtly.

Baekhyun inclines his head in acquiesce. “Then look for yourself, Kyungsoo. A destiny is written on a person. It is in their manner, their nature, their dreams, their nightmares.”

After the Battle, Kyungsoo will look.

But, at the time, he cannot. Oslin is too close. They are nearing the first encampment, the soldiers already marching out to meet them. But the Sevan lines are hundreds of men deep. Hundreds of _dead_ men. Men who will not balk in fright, men who will not fall until their legs are ripped from their hips, or their arms from their torsos.

“You are a King who never wished to be king, Kyungsoo. Minseok is a boy who has always wished to be one,” Baekhyun says. He’s not looking at Kyungsoo, though. _No_ , he’s looking right ahead, as though lost in thought. It’s a sober expression for him—one Kyungsoo likens to the moment near his Gate in Zu’a. When he had known something would go wrong, when he had known his advices would be for nought.

Kyungsoo dismisses it for now and returns his attention to the battle at hand, watching as a ribbon of electricity streaks from the sky and ripples through the first of the Oslini forces.

And so, the battle begins.

Kyungsoo hangs back with the shamans. This is not his time to command, and this is not the shamans fight to fight. They work in the background, offering prayers to the Devils and relinquishing their magic to the undead army. Sometimes, one will disappear to run to the front of the line, offering more offensive magic—like fire or electricity or water. But their purpose is largely support for now.

Kyungsoo’s purpose is largely as support. If Minseok falls in his battle, Kyungsoo will merely take up the mantle and conquer Oslin himself. He is close enough to do so, with forces large enough to do so, now.

He watches though. Can see with easy clarity as Minseok gallops his horse through the lines, fighting and cutting down soldiers that _should_ have been his own. He watches as the Oslini begin to retreat. Watches as _some_ defect and lay down their weapons, begging for amnesty amongst Minseok’s _new_ forces. Amnesty they are granted. Minseok is their king, after all.

And as they near the walls, Kyungsoo watches Minseok step right into a trap. From the back of the line, he can see the auxiliary forces previously hidden by forests march outwards, where they’ll cut Minseok’s forces in two.

“He’s too impulsive,” Kyungsoo says, urging his horse into a gallop. He hears Baekhyun’s noise of agreement, but it’s quickly left to the wind. Baekhyun does shout off a command to Yixing and the shamans, though, and the Harvester is quick to section away part of his forces to go meet the western Oslini approach.

Kyungsoo streaks towards the eastern approach. Baekhyun catches up with him quickly, his paws tearing up ground, his coat bouncing with each loping stride he takes. His tongue lolls out of his mouth, his many eyes blazing with _excitement_.

These men have no interest in surrendering, and certainly not to Kyungsoo. For, if Minseok is _like_ a foreign invader, Kyungsoo actually _is_ one.

He cuts down a man with his sword, and then another, and another. A wave seems to go through the ranks as the squadron of undead Kyungsoo had called with him collides with the living; fighting brutally, unrelentingly. A pike knocks Kyungsoo from his horse, though it only glances off his armor—improperly aimed. He falls into the dirt and mud with a groan, but is quick to his feet, slashing out at soldiers.

He’s disarmed, and so, grabs for his dagger, dodging blows more swiftly now.

Baekhyun’s hound appears at his side, slavering, with jaws full of blood, eyes as red as the moon in Hell. He mauls one of the soldiers in front of Kyungsoo.

The image of it has Kyungsoo’s magic fraying at the edges, that _wildness_ thrumming to the surface. And, in his unfocus, his _bear_ explodes from his frame, just as horrifying, just as monstrous. Can’t even get his wits about him before he has torn a soldier apart.

At the appearance of _two_ gods, though, the Oslini men _do_ fall back. Living men balk. Living men can be afraid. And these men _are_ afraid, turning around and running.

Kyungsoo slips back into his human skin—covered in blood—and calls out to Baekhyun weakly. “Don’t chase.” Then finds an empty-saddled horse and helps himself up atop it, gathering the reins in hand and watching the Oslini retreat. He calls out to his army, halts them from pursuing, and then looks back towards the middle of the field, back towards the city walls.

All in time to see Jongdae bring down a sheet of lightning. One that runs through all the Oslini forces remaining outside of the walls.

An army slaughtered in one fell sweep.

It’s uncharacteristically quiet what with thousands of men dying all at once—fried inside their armor, skin split open by electricity.

Kyungsoo glances at the Oslini men he had been fighting—those that had retreated—and sees that they’ve fallen to the ground where they’d run. Not dead, but quivering, trembling, terrified. Wholly acknowledging of Dívo’s power. Kyungsoo offers them nothing. He doesn’t say they will be safe if they defect. He doesn’t say if they’ll be safe if they desert. He just, takes off at a slow canter in the direction of Minseok’s army.

Oslin’s gates open while he is still halfway there.

And Minseok walks into his city triumphant.

Kyungsoo can’t help but feel it’s all too easy.

***

“It’s too simple,” Kyungsoo tells Baekhyun, from their place at a nearby table. They’ve been deemed honored guests, but Kyungsoo had asked for distance, had asked to sit in a place that wasn’t paradigm. So, while Minseok sits at the table on the raised pavilion, he and Baekhyun sit near a corner—where the lantern light nearly doesn’t reach.

Baekhyun hums, tearing a piece of meat from its bone with his fingers, the juice running down his hands. “Did you look at his destiny?” He asks.

Kyungsoo shakes his head, “Haven’t had the chance. I’ve been distracted.”

Baekhyun shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you,” he says. “As far as Minseok’s concerned, he has won back his throne, and Jongdae has received the fear and awe he so desires. Certainly, their wishes have been… answered, don’t you think.”

Kyungsoo takes a sip of his wine, regarding Minseok from his vantage point. Minseok doesn’t look _happy_ per se, but he looks pleased with himself, confident in himself. “He told me that the reason he first failed to pact with Jongdae was because he was too proud to see the trap laid right in front of him.”

“You’re worried he hasn’t learned his lesson?” Baekhyun wonders.

“I know he hasn’t,” Kyungsoo says calmly, gaze flicking over the nobles that walk up to greet Minseok and offer him platitudes and other affections. He sees the way they look at Jongdae—wary and afraid—and then, the way they look at Minseok—like he is a lamb amongst wolves. “He’s going to get a knife slid between his ribs before the year is up.”

Baekhyun tips his head as if to say, _“Maybe,”_ and reaches for the loaf of bread in the center of the table, ripping himself off a piece. Yixing, who’s sat eating across from them curls his lip in distaste, but doesn’t make a comment.

“Perhaps,” Baekhyun begins, “You ought to advise him.”

Kyungsoo hums. “Perhaps,” he echoes. “Is he still pacted to Jongdae?”

Baekhyun nods his head. “They’ve both received their desires, but Jongdae agreed to pact that’s permanent so long as Minseok is alive. He’s safe, don’t worry.”

Kyungsoo sets his goblet down and stands. The motion brings attention his way. He _is_ the foreigner in the room—a foreign _king_ , at that. He steps away from the bench and makes his way up to the pinnacle table, where Jongdae and Minseok both sit. Jongdae’s gaze is dangerous when it falls on Kyungsoo, as though he knows Kyungsoo’s apprehension and wishes he would keep it to himself.

Minseok almost looks relieved, by contrast.

“Your Majesty, if you’re nearing the end of your meal, perhaps you’d join me in the gardens?” Kyungsoo says, his tongue stilted by formality. He glances at the other nobles sat at the table.

Minseok immediately lays down his cloth napkin and pushes his plate away, standing up. Wordlessly, he beckons to Kyungsoo, and the both of them walk to a nearby doorway and into a passage—blessedly quiet and empty. “Do you like it here?” Minseok asks curiously, looking to Kyungsoo hopefully.

“It’s… nice,” Kyungsoo says reluctantly. “It’s very different from what I am used to. My nobles aren’t as… cold as yours,” Kyungsoo explains. “Though I wouldn’t consider them friends,” he continues, if a bit belatedly.

Minseok nods. “Was there a specific reason you wanted to talk, or?”

“Yes, actually,” Kyungsoo says, following Minseok through another doorway and out into the cold, Oslini weather. The gardens here are full of trees—evergreens that go untouched by the winter months and freezing cold—and sculptures. Despite the lack of flowers and fountains… it’s quite beautiful. It doesn’t feel empty. Not like the castle does. “I may be overstepping, but… I worry that you’re too trusting in your victory here.”

Minseok raises a brow. “What do you mean?”

“It seems too easy, doesn’t it? You described your nobles as snakes waiting to poison you back before you lost your Throne, but you’re so blaise about it now. Shouldn’t you be more wary? Nothing has changed.”

“I’ve proven myself,” Minseok says. “They know that I am meant to rule, now. I do not need to trust them, but I am also not at war with them.”

Kyungsoo shakes his head. “I think that, while you may have held out your hand in truce, they have not.” He shakes out the hood of his coat, freeing some of the falling snow from its fur lining. Anything to avoid telling Minseok outright that he believes him to be foolish. “I only worry because… well you told me Jongdae had gloated over you. You were worried about that battle, but you were hardly challenged there. What if the greater challenge is ahead? What if it is the danger that hides in the shadows, rather than in the open?”

“I can take care of myself, Kyungsoo. You’re a stranger here. You don’t know anything about Oslini politics. I’ve grown up playing them. Oslin respects power. Oslin respects birthright. Oslin respects honor.”

Kyungsoo frowns. “Oslin may respect all of those things, I’m sure. All I’m saying is that they do not respect _you_ , Minseok, they only make a good show of pretending they do.”

“Anyone else would be punished for impudence for saying something like that.”

“I am not anyone else. I am Kyungsoo, the Traitor King. I know better than most what it is like to have king’s blood on my hands.If you’re not careful, Oslin will soon be ruled by someone like me.”

Minseok hums, dismissing the warning.

The snow crunches beneath their boots; the trees creak in the wind and beneath the weight of snow. All the while, Kyungsoo’s heart putters on, slow and sad—for he had a chance to make Minseok hear him, but that chance is obviously gone.

“If we are playing politics, we will have to have two marriage ceremonies. One for your court and one for mine,” Minseok says, changing the topic.

Kyungsoo sighs and nods. “Something simple. I don’t want to deal with extravagance, especially since your winter is about to begin.” The seasons are shorter here in the North, and while it is still the end of the summer in Kyungsoo’s kingdom, the same can’t be said for Oslin, already covered in snow. “An exchange of rites and an outline of what will become of our kingdoms.”

“What _will_ become of our kingdoms?” Minseok asks, nodding.

“They remain separate entities for our lifetime. You are King of Oslin and I am King of Seva. If either of us are killed prior to the establishment of a line of succession, the marriage pact falls apart and the next ruler can negotiate with whoever remains alive. Neither of us are bound to be peaceful towards that succeeding ruler,” Kyungsoo reasons out, having given the marriage some thought. “However, once a line of succession is established, in the event that one of us dies, the other becomes regent until our succeeder is of age. And when the both of us die, that succeeder inherits our kingdoms as one merged together.”

Minseok nods in agreement. “We’ll not live together.”

“We don’t have to, though a city could be established on the river and made capital,” Kyungsoo says. “I hesitate to use Heolmkeep because of its negative history, but, one of the river villages can have some time and work put into it, and be made worthwhile to rule from.”

Minseok hums, “By the time it is ready, we will have known each other for a while. And though I already trust you, it’s comforting to know I’ll have more time to get to know you before we ever appear to be... partners.”

Kyungsoo can’t help but wonder if Minseok will survive that long.

***

The wedding date approaches with the speed of the setting sun. It’s something that creeps up on them. Kyungsoo can’t quite bring himself to dread it. He _does_ think it’s an imperative political move—one that’ll solidify a generational peace—but, he also doesn’t feel as if he _knows_ Minseok. He understands him, _sure_ , but he doesn’t _know_ the other man.

He says as much to Baekhyun, on the eve of the ceremony. The Devil is busy preparing a bath for them both—sprinkling oils and herbs into the water—but he looks up at Kyungsoo’s question. “Does anyone truly know another person?” He supposes—a non-answer, and one Kyungsoo doesn’t appreciate.

“You know what I mean to say… I truly don’t know hardly a thing about _him_. I don’t know if he prefers evening to morning, or if he likes red or blue. I don’t know the mundanities about him.”

“Again, do you need to?” Baekhyun wonders, straightening up. He stretches his hands above his head, then unclasps his robes, sending them crumpling to the ground. Kyungsoo’s gaze traces the line of his spine on reflex. “I mean really—” Baekhyun steps into the bath and sinks into the water. “You are marrying for politics, and not only that, but you intend on living in two separate kingdoms.”

“You and Jongdae live in two separate kingdoms.”

“Jongdae and I are gods cut from the same arcana. We _knew_ each other on an intrinsic level.” Baekhyun offers him a hand and helps Kyungsoo into the tub once he’s shed off his clothes. “You and Minseok don’t need that. You are humans. Or rather… he is a human. His lifespan is short in comparison to yours. Whether you knew him or not will not affect you in the coming millennia.”

Kyungsoo sighs and chooses a different approach. “Did you know Junmyeon?”

Baekhyun breathes out; it’s warm against Kyungsoo’s neck. He secures his hold around Kyungsoo’s chest more comfortably, reclining them both. “I knew him better when he was a human than I do now that he is a god.”

“How did you get to know him?”

“We _courted_ ,” Baekhyun drawls, snickering ever so slightly. “Like commoners do.”

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes. “Even still, there has to be something more.”

“You just need to… be vulnerable and trust someone. You and Minseok _aren’t_ going to be able to do that. You’re both _too_ impressive. You both have rank. You were both enemies at one point. Give up on getting to know him through the little mundanities that children would use on their own crushes and realize that you already know him from the mundanities of experience.”

At Kyungsoo’s lack of reply, Baekhyun continues. “You know which is his preferred sword hand. You know whether his first instinct is fight or flight. How it hurt him to know that his mother and his uncle had managed to thrive in Jongdae’s circle of hell. You know he values obligation and power—but that it’s selfish, not out of any loyalty to the common man.” Baekhyun traces a circle on Kyungsoo’s chest, idle and gentle. “Your perception of him is based in separate mundanities, all of them worthwhile and useful. Who _really_ cares about someone’s favorite color?”

Kyungsoo sighs and relaxes against Baekhyun’s chest, leaning his head on the Devil’s shoulder. “I know all those things about Chanyeol and Jongin, too.”

“And they are your friends. You love them, too. Perhaps, you and Minseok are only, and will only ever _be_ friends.”

Kyungsoo feels a pang at that—unexpected, but sharp.

Baekhyun seems to notice. “But, I could be wrong.” He presses a kiss behind Kyungsoo’s ear, gentle and sweet.

They fall into silence, only the gentle sound of water lapping against the sides of the tub breaking it. Soon, Baekhyun sits up and guides Kyungsoo forward as well. He takes a bar of soap in hand and begins to run his hands over Kyungsoo’s flesh, cleaning away the worries along with any dirt. “Do you know what a god is worthy of?” Baekhyun murmurs, his words electric as they float into Kyungsoo’s ear.

Kyungsoo shakes his head, dumbfounded. “Worship?”

Baekhyun grins, and his hands dip low, secure around Kyungsoo’s thighs. “You’re so clever,” he mumbles, and nips at Kyungsoo’s shoulder. “Let me worship you.”

They rise from the tub and towel off. Kyungsoo goes to the bed and crawls into the middle of it, but Baekhyun hangs back, reappearing a few moments later with a bottle of oil. He dribbles it into his hands and then, runs those hands up the back of Kyungsoo’s calves and over his thighs, kneading at the flesh. Tension bleeds from Kyungsoo’s body with the motions.

“Is this how you are worshipped?” Kyungsoo wonders. “With oil and incense?”

“And hands and lips,” Baekhyun adds, laying a kiss at the small of Kyungsoo’s back. “I’m hunger—desire itself. My worship is about consuming someone body and soul.” With his next touch, magic seems to run, humming and alive, through Kyungsoo’s blood—reminding him of what Baekhyun is.

There’s a knock on the door.

Kyungsoo’s eyes blink open and he reaches out for the blanket, pulling across his body. Baekhyun makes no move to cover himself, turning towards the the door expectantly.

“Come in~” he singsongs.

The door opens and Jongdae walks in, perfectly blaise, with Minseok just behind him. Minseok who meets Kyungsoo’s eyes and blushes, looking away quickly. “I didn’t—“ he starts to say, then looks at Jongdae, expression shifting to a mix of light betrayal and incredulity. “You knew,” he accuses.

“Hm?” Jongdae cocks his head. “I only assumed, Little King. We have wedding rituals in Hell, and it’d be unbecoming of Baekhyun and I not to bring those traditions to you both.”

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes and sighs, relaxing back against the bed. “And those rituals are?”

“A bath, anointing, and… a sacrifice of sorts. A pledge. A vow,” Baekhyun murmurs. “You’ve been bathed and I’m working on the anointment right now,” he says, grinning.

Jongdae hooks his finger in Minseok’s collar. “We’re behind. Let’s go bathe,” he coaxes, and leads Minseok into Kyungsoo’s attached bath. As soon as the door thuds shut behind them, Kyungsoo’s looking back at Baekhyun, one eyebrow crooked.

Baekhyun shrugs, “ _You_ are a being of Hell,” he reminds quietly. “It’s only right that you have Hell’s Wedding.” Dropping his voice even lower, “A wedding bond gives you more time. If he’s killed, that is.”

Kyungsoo hums, “Time for what?”

“Time to fish him out of the Midemo,” Baekhyun says.

“Why would Jongdae let us marry like this then?”

Baekhyun’s quiet for a moment. “I believe he’s grown… fond. It’s certainly not as strong a bond as you and I… but he does _care_. He’s not going to help keep Minseok alive—he _does_ still want to be free. But, he doesn’t necessarily want that death to be as stripping as it could be.”

“If I save him from the Midemo, what does he become?”

“A focus,” Baekhyun explains. “You don’t have the strength to make him a god. But… he’s ambitious enough to become a god on his own over the centuries. As a focus he’ll have time to adapt to Hell and establish a court for himself. He will be as powerful as a human king.”

So, what Baekhyun is saying is that, as a focus, Minseok not only attains his dreams of power, but he unlocks the potential to become more. Kyungsoo can immediately see why the thought is soothing, even if it’s alarming to think Minseok may die.

“Say I don’t make it in time.”

“Then he becomes a spirit like all the others,” Baekhyun says, his hands returning to their massage, this time on Kyungsoo’s back and shoulders. Kyungsoo relaxes again, closing his eyes and allowing himself to revel in the gentleness of Baekhyun’s hands over his skin. Allows himself to delight in the infrequent kisses breathed over his flesh.

The bathroom door swings open once more and Minseok steps out, a cloth towel held over himself.

“We’ve already bathed together,” Kyungsoo comments mildly, shutting his eyes again.

“This is different—more intimate,” Minseok protests.

Jongdae snorts, “You’re hardly this shy around _me_ , what makes him different?” And that’s an image Kyungsoo didn’t particularly need to have in mind.

Minseok doesn’t answer, only crawls onto the bed and lays out in a position similar Kyungsoo’s. Baekhyun leaves a last, lingering touch to Kyungsoo’s body then switches to anoint Minseok, his hands urging Minseok to lose his tension. Which happens after a few minutes of attention, Minseok letting out a shaky sigh as he relaxes against the mattress.

While they lay quietly, Jongdae and Baekhyun talk. Sometimes, the phrases are in the languages Kyungsoo knows. Mortal tongues that are easy to understand. Sometimes, their sentences trail off into something different, more mellifluous and whimsical. They laugh and they seem at ease. It’s one of the first times Kyungsoo’s been in Jongdae and Baekhyun’s dual presence and felt as though there is nothing to be wary of.

It’s the first time he feels as though Jongdae and Baekhyun may have more similarities than he’d initially thought.

Baekhyun sits back and taps both he and Minseok’s hip. “Sit up—let’s take vows.”

They both rise onto their knees. Now, Kyungsoo looks away—feeling the intimacy Minseok had mentioned earlier. It’s more than their bath in the river had been. More than their stray wandering hands from that night in Zu’a. This is a thick sort of tension, one born not from embarrassment, not from lust, not from shared trepidation. It’s… almost eager.

Baekhyun conjures a clouded, glass bowl into his hand. Jongdae conjures a knife, long and thin, needle-like and sharp. The handle bears carvings like flowers and tree bark.

Jongdae takes Minseok’s wrist in hand and directs it to lay over the top of the bowl—his fingers splayed across the middle to rest on the lip of the basin. Baekhyun does the same to Kyungsoo, laying his hand overtop Minseok’s. “Don’t be afraid; it won’t hurt,” Baekhyun says gently, just as Jongdae spears the tops of their hands on the blade.

Kyungsoo takes a sharp breath—one Minseok mirrors—but, Baekhyun hasn’t lied. It doesn’t hurt, even as blood and ichor flows into the bowl.

Jongdae begins to recite a number of vows. Some, he says in his native tongue, that ancient language of the gods. Some, he says in the mortal tongue. The whole while, Kyungsoo keeps Baekhyun in his peripheral, just in case the Devil catches onto any trickery from his counterpart.

His recitation trails to an end and he removes the knife. Baekhyun reaches out and takes them both by the wrist and flips the position of their hands, so that Minseok’s blood runs over Kyungsoo’s ichor. Equality of exchange. Magic on similar levels. Respect of sameness.

“Now recite the human terms of your marriage,” Baekhyun directs smoothly.

Minseok does so, establishing what Kyungsoo and he have already decided out—their separate kingdoms, their united kingdom in death, their successor, their power as kings of equal rank and valor.

He finishes and Baekhyun waves his hand over theirs, the wounds closing beneath his motion. He takes the bowl in hand and holds it up to Kyungsoo’s lips. It feels familiar, as though Kyungsoo’s been in this position before.

He drinks, but what fills his mouth is not the hot, sticky, metallic taste of blood. It’s of red wine. The scent too, now that he’s more attentive, is as acidic as wine as well.

Baekhyun lowers the lip of the bowl and passes it to Minseok, who drinks after a momentary pause—deeply so once he realizes the taste is not that of blood.

When the bowl’s lowered once more and vanished with a flick of the hand, they’ve been pacted.

***

Oslin’s wedding chapel is constructed of a finery even Seva is not prone to. It has tall doorways and ceilings, stained glass windows that stretch onto the ceiling, lanterns and chandeliers, pews and paintings, sculptures and altars. The Old God stands behind the primary altar, tall and masculine. He bears no face—it would be a disrespect to try and sculpt his likeness—but still… he _watches_. He watches and he _unnerves_ Kyungsoo, who waits beneath his hands in a gilded, jewelry-laden robe and crown.

If Minseok is similarly offput by the great statue, he doesn’t show it, his gaze blank and relaxed while the ordained priest runs over their vows—both those religious ones to the God of Old (to the chagrin of both Devils) and those political ones.

“Is yours a commitment until death?” The priest asks.

Kyungsoo affirms him with a nod of his head. Minseok says the word aloud.

The priest continues, resuming that droning reading. Kyungsoo’s gaze flicks from Minseok to Jongdae, who stands against the wall behind him. Jongdae, whose gaze is sharp and body tense. It’s rare to see the Devil out of ease, and Kyungsoo nearly attributes it to the fact that they are in a foreign god’s temple.

Except, were that the case, Jongdae would look _arrogant_ , would look hatefully upon the display on the altar. Not apprehensive.

The priest turns and retrieves a chalice from the table on the altar, then offers it to Kyungsoo to take first. He does so, his hands wrapping around the silver stem and raising the heavy goblet to his lips. He takes three sips and lowers it, offering it back to the priest.

Everything about Oslin is so stilted.

Minseok lifts the chalice to his lips.

Everything about Oslin is so cruel.

He makes to return the chalice to the priest, but in doing so, his hands tighten and he near convulses forward. Kyungsoo immediately reaches out to catch him by the forearms, helping to support him upright.

His hands fight Kyungsoo’s—they want to claw at his throat, as though it will help him breathe. It won’t. His eyes find Kyungsoo’s, horribly afraid, horribly betrayed, but he must see the shock in his gaze. Must know _Kyungsoo_ was not behind his poisoning, but rather, his own Court.

Just as Kyungsoo had warned him.

Minseok is dead within minutes—a macabre display of convulsion and choking, all of which happens in Kyungsoo’s arms. Steadfast, unflappable Kyungsoo. When he’s stilled and calmed, Kyungsoo lowers him to the floor and regards the priest coldly, then, the Court itself—those nobles who stare at him in open shock.

Both Kings had sipped from the same goblet.

But only one is susceptible to poison.

“There is no successor for your king,” Kyungsoo states, calm, his tone betraying none of his anger, his frustration. “Do you imagine I’ll let you fight until one of you sits on the Throne?” He shifts on his feet, holding out a ring-laden hand and beckoning both Baekhyun and Jongdae from their places against the wall. “Do you imagine I’ll ever want to make peace with a people as poisonous as you?”

Now, ire seeps into his tone, and with it, the Court begins to move beyond shock and into horror.

Those in the back of the chapel rise, gathering their robes and dresses, and make to _run_. Jongdae snaps his fingers and the heavy chapel doors slam closed.

“I am Síla,” Kyungsoo says finally, voice louder, more powerful. A voice that comes into its own. A man finally accepting their destiny. “God of decisive action. An iron fist in a velvet glove. God of justice and reward.” He waves his hand to the two Devils behind him.

Baekhyun shifts so smoothly into his hound that you could blink and miss it. Jongdae does the same, lithe muscle making way for sinew and fur. They both slink into the crowd, jaws glistening, eyes alive with hunger.

Kyungsoo gathers Minseok’s body in his arms and envisions the Obelisk.

As soon as he stands there, Minseok’s bones fall from his hands. They’re ancient; bones from ages beyond. Kyungsoo gasps, but doesn’t make to pick them up, Baekhyun’s warning in mind. He only has a short time before he loses Minseok to the Midemo forever.

He’s quick to leave the obelisk and walk out onto its shore. Yixing stands there, among the rocks and volcanic glass. He looks up at the sound of Kyungsoo’s footsteps and hefts his axe in hand. He is a Harvester here in Hell. Tasked with keeping the balance. Bestowing power to a spirit isn’t keeping that balance, especially since Kyungsoo’s realm is not Hell, but the Overworld.

Kyungsoo conjures a sword into his hand. “He’ll be a focus in my Court.”

“He’s meant for Mozuelle,” Yixing says. Western Hell, where Jongdae rules.

“He’s not,” Kyungsoo says, swinging his sword. Yixing blocks the blow using the shaft of his axe, then swings his own weapon, the bladed head cutting through the air.

Kyungsoo steps back, dodging the heavy-handed weapon and stabs forward with his sword again. Behind him, he catches sight of Minseok’s body in the water—spectral and light. Yixing takes his moment of inattention to swing his axe right across Kyungsoo’s chest. Pain blooms across his body, ichor spilling down his shirt, and he drops his sword.

Yixing kicks it away and raises his axe again.

Kyungsoo gives in to the wild monster nipping at his innards. Lets that bear-like monstrosity grow and overcome him. Yixing’s axe is batted away by Kyungsoo’s massive paw, and then, Yixing _too_ , is thrown from his feet. Kyungsoo doesn’t spare him any other attention, shifting back into his human skin and diving into the Midemo.

He swims out to Minseok, grabs onto him, and tows him back to shore.

As soon as Minseok’s touching the Obelisk’s rocks, his body’s becoming more corporeal.

Yixing back on his feet, though, and he’s stolen Kyungsoo’s sword—the lighter weapon giving him more room to move. Kyungsoo again, shifts to his monster, and roars at the Harvester—a warning, a challenge.

Yixing steps back, rolling his eyes. “You Devils always get your way,” he says lightly. “It’s why Hell’s going to consume itself in time.” He drops the sword and disappears in a spiral of smoke. Kyungsoo shifts back and looks down at Minseok, who’s coughing water up.

“How do you feel?” Kyungsoo asks, reaching out and healing him with his magic.

“I’ve been better,” Minseok gasps. “What am I now?”

Kyungsoo shrugs, “My King, still,” he says, offering Minseok a hand and pulling him to his feet. “Though I’ve yet to create a Court for you to rule.”

Minseok’s quiet for a long time, his gaze unfocused, staring out over the sea. Kyungsoo can feel it, his crashing disappointment. He thought he could rule Oslin, but there is no glory in ruling those without honor.

“I can wait,” he finally says, calm and accepting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved participating in Monster Fest again this year, and am really grateful to the mods for organizing the fest. I’m also very grateful for all the readers I meet through it! It’s a joy to write for y’all. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment to let me know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/syzygybbh) | [CuriousCat](https://t.co/KYC8gCVmPh?amp=1) !
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please leave a comment or kudos and let me know what you think!


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